


The Play's the Thing

by smutty_claus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: smutty_claus, Cross-Generation Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narcissa Malfoy has a brilliant idea, and the Ministry has its hands full.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Play's the Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Are you the author of this story and just got your own AO3 account? Email me at: smuttyclausmods@gmail.com and I will edit the author name to reflect your new account!

  
**To: chantefable  
From: Your Secret Santa**   


>   
> **Title:** The Play's the Thing  
>  **Author:** [rillalicious](http://rillalicious.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Pairing:** A veritable plethora of rare pairs, see [endnote](http://archiveofourown.org/works/292354#work_endnotes) for specific pairings (may be spoilery)  
>  **Summary:** Narcissa Malfoy has a brilliant idea, and the Ministry has its hands full.  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Length:** ~28,700  
>  **Warnings:** Cross-gen pairings (no underage characters involved)  
>  **Author's notes:** I hope you enjoy this, chantefable! I couldn't decide on just one of your fabulous pairing suggestions, and as a sucker for intertwining storylines myself, I had to run with several of them. Thank you so much to my wonderful, patient betas. I should also give a nod to the movie _Love Actually_ for some of the inspiration. 

 

**Narcissa**

Narcissa had entertained her fair share of brilliant ideas over the course of her lifetime (not the least of which was saving Harry Potter from the clutches of the Dark Lord), but this was her most brilliant by far. Even her ex-husband, whom she managed to coerce into footing most of the bill, had to admit that the idea had merit. She would clear the name of so many, strengthen ties with those who still gave her a side-eying glance as they passed by, and create a lasting and important charity in the process. Oh yes, this was one of her finest endeavors to date.

With one more flourish of her wand, a swirl of glitter appeared on the large poster in front of her on the dining room table.

  
**_The Ladies Auxiliary for a Unified Front presents Twelfth Night, 24th December 2011, 8 pm.  
By Muggle playright William Shakespeare, Produced by Lucius Malfoy and the LAUF Council_**

Perfect. She would send it off to be printed straight away. It would take some effort to sell the idea to the rest of the LAUF Council, but she was certain she could do it. The war was still fresh enough in every mind, the desire for peace and tolerance still so great, even after more than a decade. There was plenty to capitalize on here.

Narcissa had worked tirelessly to bring dignity back to her family name. LAUF was the crowning achievement in a long line of charity and philanthropic endeavors. She started the group with a few female friends, the wives of former Death Eaters, or men who had been accused of associating with Death Eaters. Ariadne Zabini also joined quickly; Narcissa suspected there wasn't a woman alive in greater need to polish her reputation.

Eventually, Narcissa convinced her surviving sister to join (an odd thing it was, conversing with a sister who wasn't mad and homicidal). Then, at Andromeda's urging, and with the swallowing of a very large grain of salt, they approached Molly Weasley, who brought to the Auxiliary a great deal of legitimacy and public sympathy. Molly, in turn, had recruited Appolline Delacour, her son's mother-in-law.

Before long, Molly and Narcissa were contacted by _The Daily Prophet_ , with Rita Skeeter hellbent on making headlines with the heartfelt story of a former Death Eater's wife welcoming the woman who killed her sister into the fold. It was during a photo shoot for the story that Molly and Narcissa managed to get Rita on board as well.

In all, there were eight women on the council: Narcissa, Andromeda, Ariadne, Appolline, Molly, Rita, Poppy Parkinson, and Aurelia Greengrass. They had, for the past two years dabbled with various other charity groups, and took up collections of their own, but now Narcissa had found a purpose. It had come to her attention that there was a generation of war orphans who where _not_ receiving a proper wizarding education because they had no tuition money set aside for Hogwarts. That, she decided, was going to change. The rest of the Council was on board by the next monthly meeting. Now they scarcely had four weeks to put the entire production together.

Narcissa, however, was feeling determined, and Lucius had always told her that there was little to keep the earth's very crust from splitting straight through if Narcissa was determined that it should.

She examined the poster again. Andromeda would likely take offense to the indication that this Shakespeare character was a _Muggle_ playwright, but it wasn't as if tickets were going to be cheap, and Narcissa believed that a consumer should know what she was getting ahead of time. Now all they needed was a cast. And a director. Perhaps they could take care of costuming issues themselves. Oh, and a stage as well. Narcissa lifted the poster and smiled. That would all take care of itself in due time. She had a very good feeling about this.

The following afternoon, with the poster hanging on the bookcase behind her for inspiration, Narcissa presided over a tea time meeting of the Council to discuss their practical concerns.

"We'll need... stagehands, particularly strong young men who can lift and move things easily," Narcissa said, her lids low as she turned her gaze on Molly. The other women sitting around the parlour did the same.

"Of course," Molly said, without looking up at first. And then, when she did, " _Oh_. I suppose I can ask my boys. Charlie is coming home on holiday for the month of December this year, and Ron certainly isn't too busy to lend a hand."

"Teddy is small, but he's strong and wiry," said Andromeda. "He can work hard. However, he'll need supervision. Maybe one of Molly's boys can lend a hand with him." She looked to Narcissa and cleared her throat, more pointedly than necessary.

"Of course Draco will be a help," Narcissa said quickly. "That should go without saying. And what about Blaise?"

Ariadne laughed, a deep, throaty sound, and swirled what was left of her tea in the cup, examining the fine powder of tea leaves that remained.

"Are you serious?" she said. "My Blaise, do manual labor? He wouldn't hear of it."

"Of course not," said Poppy, examining her nails.

"And what do you mean by that?" Ariadne's gaze was sharp as a knife. Her fourth husband had been slain by an unfortunate magical accident involving a set of very expensive kitchen knives, Narcissa recalled.

"Nothing at all," said Poppy. Ariadne crossed her legs, the gesture surprisingly menacing.

"We'll need actors," Andromeda said, offering the suggestion as an awkward buffer.

"Yes, actors!" said Rita. "I suppose I know a few of those."

"No, no," said Narcissa. "This is to be a community effort, after all. We'll use amateurs. Perhaps we'll even find a dark horse amongst our ranks."

"We can hold the auditions this weekend," said Aurelia. "We'll need to get started right away."

"I'll have George pass out flyers in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley" said Molly. "I'm sure he won't mind at all." The unspoken implication that he wouldn't be _allowed_ to mind made Narcissa smile. In some ways, she believed she and Molly were very much alike, just not in matters of... taste.

"We'll need a director as well," said Narcissa. "Perhaps someone who has experience with this sort of thing to guide us through. That shouldn't be hard to find. Now, let us discuss the details..."

Rita began taking notes furiously.

And so it was agreed. The LAUF Council would put on their very first charity play, just in time for Christmas. Narcissa was pleased beyond reason.

***

 

  
**Four Weeks Before the Play**   


**George**

"I can't get the shipment to you by Thursday, I've told you that already." George spoke into the Muggle mobile phone charmed to hover beside his ear as he bustled around the shop. "Because, Lee, I've only got one set of hands here this week. Yeah, Ron's off being an Auror and saving the world again."

He pushed his way into the stockroom just in time to send a balancing hex at a teetering stack of boxes.

"Damned if I know," he said. "But he seems to think fighting crime is a nobler calling than belching powder and broom relaxant. Besides, it's not like you're here to lend a hand this week. You know Christmas is coming. We're swamped."

He levitated a crate of pygmy puffs from the back of the room, and out into the shop.

"Yeah, well, you just tell that wife of yours that better timing would be appreciated next time. Honestly, the nerve of the woman, giving birth to your firstborn dead in the middle of the holiday rush," said George. He chuckled at Lee's vulgar response, then charmed the mobile off and into his pocket as he followed the crate onto the floor.

Verity was less than amused with the state of the place, or the fact that they would be short-staffed for at least the next three weeks, and George had been avoiding her as much as possible so he didn't have to hear another diatribe about his refusal to properly staff the shop. She was in the front window when he finally made it to the cash register, and it looked like the afternoon rush had just died away. The new cashier, Melvin, who was only a few months out of Hogwarts, stood swaying behind the counter, his face pale and his eyes wide, as if he'd been stunned.

"All right there, Mel?" said George, clapping him on the shoulder. "Why don't you take five. Verity and I will hold down the fort."

"Speak for yourself," Verity grumbled from the window.

George winked. Melvin nodded weakly, then staggered off toward the back room.

"I don't know why they always think that retail is going to be easy," said George. "Especially in a shop as busy as this one. No matter, I guess. What's all this, then?"

Verity looked down on him from her perch on the window sill where she was reaching up high to hang a rather large poster.

"Some play the Ladies' Auxiliary is putting on in December," she said, the look she gave him clearly telling him that she was in no mood to repeat the details.

"And we're advertising it why, exactly?"

At that, Verity smiled. It was the wicked, cruel smile she always shot him when she'd arranged a situation he couldn't sneak out of (which had become a more frequent occasion in recent years). George knew that whatever she said next, he wasn't going to like it.

"Your mother dropped it off earlier. She said you'd likely have _no problem_ hanging it in the window, but if you did, you were to take it up with her," said Verity.

"Since when does my mother give the orders around here?"

"Since when do _you_ give the orders around here?" Verity had turned to face him now, her hands fisted on her hips. "Like your mother said, take it up with her. And furthermore, if you don't start appreciating the work I do around here, George Weasley, it's liable I'll up and quit on you!"

"Oh, come on, Verity," George said, his tone sweet as honey. They'd had this conversation a thousand times over the past decade and a half. "You know my manager is indispensable to me! I couldn't survive a day without her."

Verity huffed and blew a lock of hair away from her forehead.

"Fine, fine," said George. "We all know you're the one in charge around this place. Most successful of all my shops, after all. Busiest, too."

"That's right. And your mother is a lovely woman. The poster stays."

"You're only saying that because you've never managed to get yourself on her scary side," said George.

"Maybe," said Verity. "But I think this club has been good for her. It's given her a purpose. You should encourage it."

George opened his mouth to argue that any 'purpose' involving a handful of Death Eater wives and begging money off complete strangers couldn't be good for anyone, but was interrupted by the raucous chiming of a hundred different bells and buzzers as a flood of new customers walked into the shop. He shrugged and manned the cash register. At least business was booming, right?

***

**Charlie**

He knew Percy would tell him that the decision to travel by Muggle train instead of just taking a portkey home for the holidays was very telling, but Charlie didn't care how obvious it was. The train was comfortable, the Muggles were involved enough in their various gadgets to completely ignore him, and the food was better than what they served up at the sanctuary. True, the bar wasn't set very high in regard to the latter, and Molly's cooking would be a welcome relief to the usual tasteless, overcooked cafeteria-style meals, but train food was edible and fairly tasty, and Charlie had never been all that picky anyway.

Percy would be right, of course. Charlie was stalling on purpose. Under other circumstances he didn't complain about coming home for a visit, loved it even, but a solid month spent at the Burrow was a different story. He hadn't been there for more than two weeks at once since he'd left for Romania in the first place. He'd been gone so long by now that there was no one left for him in Ottery St Catchpole save for his family, and five full weeks was an awful lot of family time. He'd become so used to conversing mainly with dragons that he wasn't sure he even knew how to get along with all those people at once anymore.

The woman sitting next to Charlie had tiny speakers plugged into her ears, connected to a little square thing so small that he hadn't noticed it at first. Her eyes were closed, but from the way her head bobbed faintly and her index finger tapped her thigh, he assumed she was listening to music. He wondered if George had introduced his father to these gadgets yet. Across from them, a man was typing furiously with his thumbs into his mobile phone. George had sent Charlie one of those a few years back, but Charlie had never been careful with his possessions, and he reckoned it must have fallen out of his pocket and been eaten by one of the hatchlings while he was tending their pens.

Charlie stretched his legs out to the empty seat beside the man, and interlaced his fingers behind his head. He tried to come up with some lines to use against his mother's inevitable tirade on why he hadn't married yet, but the thing about Molly Weasley was that she left you speechless when she started ranting. At least she left Charlie speechless. George had always been pretty quick with a rebuttal and Percy hardly had to worry about raising Molly's ire. He hadn't had to apologize for a thing in over a decade, not after his prodigal son-style return to the family.

In contrast, Charlie was constantly forgetting birthdays and important events, was complete rubbish at keeping in touch on a regular basis, and nearly missed Ginny's wedding entirely because he'd been caring for a cluster of Fireballs with a rampant case of scale rot. He _had_ made it up to her by taking her out to get good and pissed on the night her divorce became official, but as much as his sister appreciated it, that obviously hadn't scored him any points in Molly's book.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. It was still another hour by train until he reached the place where he would Apparate to the Burrow (sometimes he wondered if it really was like Percy said, if he really had failed that Apparition test on purpose in order to have a life-long traveling excuse) and he hoped that was enough time to prepare himself mentally for the trip. If all else failed, he supposed Christmas shopping would get him out of the house; he still hadn't bought a single gift.

***

**Daphne**

"Minister Shacklebolt, those files were sent to the DoM, just as you requested." Daphne fidgeted a bit in her new pumps, the toes too tight for her to tolerate standing much longer. "Is there anything else?"

"Not before lunch. Thank you, Daphne." Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't look up from his desk.

"Of course, sir," said Daphne, and she scrunched up her toes, drawing them back and away from the pointy tips of her shoes. She stumbled slightly as she tried to turn, glad that the Minister hadn't noticed her, and staggered out of the office. She couldn't even imagine the blisters she was going to have tonight.

"Lunch," she murmured to herself. "Right." Half way through the day and she'd accomplished nothing so far.

Lunch was a cold sandwich that had been squashed in the bottom of her bag after she'd forgotten she'd packed it and had loaded the bag with books to read on her break, and a cup of coffee from the cafeteria. Daphne ate quickly, barefoot at her desk, with the offending shoes tossed to the side in a haphazard heap by the hearth. When she was finished, she walked over to the fireplace behind her desk, looked from side to side to make sure no one was watching, and grabbed a handful of floo powder and tossed it in, dropping to her knees as the fire roared to life.

"Pans," she whispered, and she waited a few breaths before calling out again. " _Pans_. I haven't got all day."

"Patience, please. I'm rather busy at the moment." Pansy's head finally appeared in the dancing flames, her expression one of annoyance. She was looking at something on the ground in front of her, not at Daphne, but at least she was there. "What is it?"

"These bloody shoes." Daphne pulled them from her feet and chucked them through the floo connection.

Pansy squealed and ducked as the second one narrowly missed her. "What the hell was that for?"

"They didn't work."

"What do you mean they didn't work? They're no-fail! I've never had a man _not_ notice me in those shoes."

"Well, he didn't notice _me_ in the shoes, and that was the whole point," said Daphne.

"You must have been wearing them wrong."

"How would I wear them wrong?" Daphne's voice got louder for a moment, and she pushed her dark hair back from her forehead.

"Oh, I don't know." Pansy turned her attention to whatever it was that she had in front of her. "Did you have them on the correct feet?" She raised a pair of tweezers to her eyebrow.

"Honestly, Pansy, I know which feet to put my shoes on! And now I have nothing to wear this afternoon but my winter boots."

"It's not my fault you pitched the red pumps at me." Pansy made a peculiar face as she plucked out an eyebrow hair.

"Those things were murder on my toes. I can't stand around all day in them."

"They're not meant to stand around in, you dolt," Pansy said. She set down the tweezers then turned to the side, raising the mirror to examine herself. "You said you wanted my fuck-me pumps. That's what I gave you."

"Well, if you don't stand around in them, how do you-- _Oh_." Daphne had never thought of that as a literal term before. She felt like maybe she should wash her feet after spending the first half of the day in Pansy's shagging shoes.

"Just transfigure your boots into something more fashionable."

"Right," said Daphne. "More fashionable." As if the reason she'd borrowed shoes from Pansy in the first place hadn't been because she didn't know what was fashionable. "Thanks for nothing, Pansy. I have to get back to work."

"Go on then. You're still coming out tonight, aren't you? We'll have to celebrate!"

"Celebrate what?"

Pansy beamed into the flames. "Didn't I tell you? I have an audition today."

"You do? Pansy, that's fantastic. A real job? Do you think you'll get it?"

"Well," Pansy's expression faltered just a bit, "it _is_ for a charity play, but it's just the kind of work experience I'm looking for. A leading role and everything. But enough about that. You'll come tonight, won't you?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow. Pansy was never reluctant to talk about an audition. Still, she sounded hopeful enough, and Daphne was hoping her friend finally got something, if only so she could come to understand the meaning of an honest day's work.

"Of course I'll come out tonight. As long as my feet forgive me by then."

"Daphne!" Kingsley's voice was deep and commanding over the communicator, and Daphne jumped.

"Got to run, Pans," she said, and she closed the floo connection.

She slipped her feet into the fuzzy boots stashed beneath her desk, grabbed her quill and notebook, and hurried into Kingsley's office.

"You called for me, Minister?"

This time he did look up. _Of course,_ thought Daphne.

"Yes. I was hoping you could send a memo to the Department of Muggle Artifacts for me," he said.

"Of course, sir."

"Very good. Why don't you have a seat and I'll--Aren't you... warm in those boots?"

Daphne swallowed hard and forced a smile. "Not at all, sir," she said, though in all honesty, she was sweating inside them. "I have a problem with cold feet."

"I see," Kingsley said slowly, and he looked at her for another moment before shaking his head. "Anyway, have a seat so we can get started."

Daphne hurried over to the chair across from his desk, her quill poised to write. Honestly, she didn't think she could make a bigger fool out of herself if she tried.

***

**Draco**

"Yes, I know what she's like when she gets an idea in her head, but I can't believe you're letting her go through with this," Draco said, frowning at the stack of posters slung over his arm.

"Your mother is a very convincing woman," said Lucius absently, narrowing his eyes at the entrance of the seedy pub before pushing in through the doors.

Draco gave his father a hard look. "You two aren't 'reconciling' again, are you?"

"What? Of course not! I'm doing her a favor. That's all."

"Mmmhmm." Draco slapped the stack of posters down on the bar in front of the barkeep, and Lucius held one up and began explaining it to the man.

Draco turned around and surveyed the noontime crowd of apparent layabouts and suspicious characters with a moue of distaste. He supposed if his mother was trying to draw attention to a _Muggle_ play, this was the perfect place to do so, though he couldn't imagine any member of this rabble having the required number of coins in pocket to pay the price of admission.

The barkeep reluctantly took a poster and Lucius cleared his throat, nodding at Draco to pick up the stack so they could carry on. Draco did so eagerly. Once they were outside again, he took a deep breath and wrinkled his nose.

"That place was repulsive."

"Indeed," said Lucius, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. "On to the next one."

"She could honestly talk you into anything, couldn't she?" Draco said, smirking as they walked side by side toward the potions shop seated beside the pub. He made his voice higher and more haughty in a strained imitation of his mother. "Lucius, dear, take these to Knockturn Alley and make sure every shady character and criminal element sees them. It's for the _war orphans_ , after all."

"It didn't happen quite like that," Lucius said through gritted teeth.

Draco just snorted and pulled the door open, holding it for his father to precede him into the shop. The witch behind the counter, dressed in what appeared to be the tattered rags left behind by a resurrected mummy, smiled a toothless smile and held out an up-facing palm. An apple-shaped glass bottle brimming with a bubbling red potion floated above her hand.

Lucius and Draco just stood there for a moment, staring at her, then Lucius leaned nearer. "When this is through, I'm dousing myself in disinfectant spells and then going to dinner at a _reputable_ institution. Join me?"

"Sorry," Draco murmured back. "I have plans."

"Come in, come in, my lovely gentlemen," said the witch, and she _cackled_.

"With whom?" Lucius whispered as they slowly approached the counter.

"No one you know," said Draco.

"Theodore?"

"You know him, don't you? No, not Theo."

"Gregory?"

"No, father, not Goyle either. I do have a social life outside of the two of them."

"You certainly do not. Your mother would have told me about it."

"What can I do for you today?" the witch crooned. "Lust potion? Liquid obliviation? _Poison_?" Her voice rose several octaves on the last word.

Draco shuddered. "Perhaps mother doesn't know all the details."

"Nonsense. Narcissa knows everything that goes on in wizarding England." Lucius snatched a poster from Draco's arm and held it up to the witch. "I'm here on behalf of my wife's--"

" _Ex_ -wife's," Draco corrected.

"My _ex_ -wife's charitable organization. She would appreciate your cooperation in placing these posters throughout the neighborhood."

As annoying as he could be at times, Draco had to give his father credit for subtlety when he made his threats.

The witch glared at them for a moment, the apple-shaped bottle drifting slowly back down to the counter as she retracted her hand. When she finally spoke, her voice was shrewd and cold.

"It'll cost you," she said.

"Oh, will it?" said Lucius with a dry laugh. "I don't think so."

"Oh, my dear, but I do," she said. "I will advertise your... play, if you make a purchase."

"That's ridiculous. I don't need anything in your shop."

"As you wish," she said, and she started to turn away.

Lucius pounded his fist on the counter. "I demand you hang this poster."

"No," snapped the witch.

"Yes," said Lucius.

"I have the means to remove you from my shop," said the witch, turning back to face them, her eyes flickering with indignation. "If you're not here to make a purchase, you will leave me in peace."

Lucius began to argue again, but Draco was faster, grabbing a small vial of headache potion from a basket on the counter and setting it down in front of them.

"I'll take that one," he said. After this afternoon, he was certainly going to need it.

The witch glared at Lucius for another moment, then grudgingly looked to Draco, taking the galleons he offered and slipping the potion into a bag. Lucius stood scowling at her even after she took one of the posters. Draco grabbed his arm and steered him out of the shop.

"I had that situation perfectly in hand," said Lucius. "There was no need for you to intercede."

"Clearly not," Draco said, tucking the bag into his pocket. His wristwatch chimed softly.

Lucius straightened his robes. "The impudence of that woman. But I suppose our purpose was served. Now, about dinner."

Draco pushed back his sleeve to look at his wrist. Letters appeared in gold around the rim of the watch face. _Miss you. See you soon._ Draco smiled.

"We'll have dinner another time," he said, shoving the posters into his father's arms. "I'm running late." And then he hurried away, oblivious to Lucius's confused protests.

***

**Harry**

Harry glanced up as Ron spun around in his desk chair, poking himself in the temple with the end of his quill.

"Gah, I hate paperwork!"

Harry snorted. "Really?" he said. "I hadn't noticed."

"Isn't this Malfoy's job, anyway?" said Ron.

"He's off this afternoon, and no, it's not. He's the MLE liaison to the Minister's office. He's not our personal errand boy."

Ron shrugged. "Least he could do is make himself useful."

"I'm sure he does that already, Ron," Harry said. "Now would you let me concentrate on _my_ paperwork? I just read the same question three times."

Ron grumbled, but went back to his work, sighing heavily every few seconds as if he were afraid Harry would forget that he was disgruntled about all this. Just as Harry looked up again, about to tell Ron off properly, an airplane came sailing onto his desk with the Minister's seal on it.

Harry tore it open, read the summons, then got to his feet.

"Where're you going?" said Ron.

"Kingsley's office." Harry waved the note in the air. "I'll only be a minute."

"What's the point of having Malfoy around if you spend half your time in the Minister's office anyway? Doesn't that make _you_ the MLE liaison?"

"This is related to a case, Ron."

"What kind of a case?"

"I dunno. That's what I'm going to find out."

"Dumbledore all over again," Ron said, but Harry wasn't sure he'd heard that right because Ron was looking down again.

"What's that?"

Ron looked up. "I said it's Dumbledore all over again. You get all the cool missions and stuff, and I get to be the stalwart sidekick."

"Oh, don't think of it that way, Ron." Harry grinned crookedly. "Valiant sidekick is more like it."

Ron gave him a slightly disbelieving look, but didn't argue, and Harry set off for the Minister's office.

Ron did have a point, Harry thought. Kingsley often went directly to Harry with important cases and classified Ministry information, even though Ron was Harry's partner and worked those same cases in the end. Maybe he'd bring it up to Kingsley, see if he couldn't get Ron in on the next briefing. He reached Kingsley's office and stopped at the desk.

"Hey, Daphne. The Minister wanted to see me."

"He's expecting you," Daphne said, hardly seeming to pay attention to Harry as she rifled around through piles of papers and folders on her desk, searching for something. "Go right ahead."

"Thanks," Harry said, and he started to walk away, then noticed something sticking out of the loose bun on top of her head. On a hunch, he reached down and plucked it out. "This what you're looking for?" he said, handing her the quill.

"Oh." Daphne's cheeks reddened brilliantly. "Yes. That's where I stashed it."

"Don't worry about it," said Harry. "Happens to the best of us." He winked, then continued into the Minister's office.

"Harry," Kingsley said, looking up with a smile. "Glad to see you could make it."

"Dropped everything I had going to run up here," said Harry.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "Gawain told me you and Weasley were filling out paperwork."

"Well, yeah," Harry said, shrugging. "But it was very important paperwork."

"Uh huh. Anyway, I might be in need of a special security detail. I thought you and Weasley could be up for the job."

"What kind of special security?"

"Are you familiar with the old Palace Theatre on Diagon Alley?" said Kingsley.

"That's the building that's falling down, right? The one the Preservation Association keeps demonstrating to save?"

"That's it," said Kingsley. "They've collected enough in donations in recent years to have some improvements made. It's usable again, but just barely. Guess who has got it in her head to put on a lavish holiday production there?"

Harry frowned. "Who could that--Oh, God. Seriously?"

"Mmmhmm." Kingsley smirked.

"Wait. You're telling me you want me to be... what? An usher? For Narcissa Malfoy's show? Kingsley, you've got to have a... more appropriate Auror for the job. What about... What about Draco? It's his mother!"

"Draco's not an Auror. And I'm not recruiting you to be an usher, Harry. Don't worry. This is a little bigger than that. In the years that the theatre fell into disrepair, it's been used for... some disreputable activity. Small time stuff, mostly. The most common offender is an old friend of ours."

"So that's where Dung's been hiding out? I wondered why I hadn't heard from him in a while."

"Yes," said Kingsley, "well, Gawain would rather use you for more serious cases than Fletcher's petty pickpocketing, and I can't say that I blame him."

"I don't understand," said Harry. "Has it become more serious because that 'laugh' group is involved?"

"L-A-U-F," Kingsley corrected absently. "And no, it's not that. There's some concern that some of these more... unsavory elements will try to continue their activities at the theatre. We'd like to help ensure that this will be an event that is safe for the public."

"I see," said Harry. "So you want me and Ron to keep Dung and his mates out?"

"More or less," said Kingsley. "I'll be perfectly honest. You carry a certain authority, Harry. People listen to you. I think it would be the most effective step we can take."

"Well, who am I to argue with that?" said Harry.

Kingsley smiled broadly. "Good," he said. "I'm glad to hear you're on board. Weasley will join you?"

"Of course he will," said Harry, knowing well that Ron would not like this assignment one bit, especially considering it sounded like his mother would be involved.

"And you'll play nicely with the LAUF Council?"

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched. "I will try my best."

" _Harry_."

"Kingsley. I'll try, all right? As long as she doesn't start anything with me again, I'll keep it very professional."

"You'll keep it very professional even if she does start something with you again."

"I'll try."

"That's not an answer, Potter."

"Since when is try not an option, Master Yoda?"

"I--what?"

"Never mind," Harry said, waving his hand in the air. "Muggle film reference. I promise, Kingsley, that I will not purposely upset Narcissa Malfoy in any way."

"She _did_ save your life once, Harry."

"I know. I _know_. But I still swear that last time it _wasn't_ my fault. I had no idea her permits were in order when I confiscated that disappearing cabinet. You know her family's history with those things, Kingsley!"

"Your motives were good, but your instincts were off. That doesn't usually happen to you, Harry. See to it that it won't happen again."

"Of course," said Harry. "Is that all, sir?"

"You can get back to that paperwork now," said Kingsley.

"All right." Harry stood. "Oh, one more thing. Next time, do you think you could call Ron in when you call me? He's feeling a bit left out these days."

"I suppose that can be arranged," said Kingsley. "I'll get the details of this assignment to you both as soon as possible."

"Thanks," Harry said. "I appreciate it."

On the walk back down to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry thought about how he was going to break the news to Ron. It wouldn't be easy. Ron _hated_ his mother's involvement in the Auxiliary. Harry didn't have feelings nearly as strong. As grating and condescending as Narcissa Malfoy could be at times, Harry couldn't see taking it out on the rest of the Auxiliary. Molly and Andromeda were genuinely interested in charitable works, and he imagined they were keeping Narcissa honest if nothing else.

He wondered which 'cause' Narcissa was taking up this time. When he confiscated the disappearing cabinet, she'd been about to put it up for an auction to benefit the Legacy War Widows fund, which was a fancy name for Death Eater widows. Not that Harry didn't feel badly for them; many of them were innocent of their late husbands' crimes. But surely there were thousands of people more in need than a bunch of aging Slytherin heiresses, weren't there?

At least he'd been able to talk his way out of that one when he'd run across Draco later the same day. "So, I made a public spectacle of myself by arguing very loudly with your mum in Diagon Alley and very nearly arrested her," was not the kind of thing that would help him continue this amicable truce he'd struck up with Draco since the latter took a job at the Ministry. For nearly a week he'd gone to the Ministry every day in fear that Narcissa would spill out every last detail of the incident and things would go back to the way they had been at Hogwarts. When the weeks turned into months and not a word was spoken on the topic, Harry had been able to breathe easy.

Not that he wanted to be _friendly_ with Draco Malfoy. But it wasn't so bad being acquaintances who weren't out to kill each other, Harry reckoned. He was going to have to be careful with this case. If he let his temper get the best of him with Narcissa again, he might not be so lucky.

***

**Viktor**

The first request had been easy to ignore. Viktor recognized the Malfoy name immediately and barely skimmed the words on the page before tossing it into the rubbish bin. He received a lot of mail these days, and couldn't be bothered to answer all of it anyway. Less than an hour later, the second request arrived.

Then a third.

And a fourth.

By the eight request, Viktor had locked all the windows and buried his face beneath a cool washcloth. He'd soon dozed off and when he woke an hour later, his fireplace was full of letters. Most of them were from Narcissa Malfoy. The rest were a smattering of endorsement requests and well wishes from fans. He hadn't expected his popularity to soar again after retirement, but there it was. It was almost like the old days.

He opened one of the letters from Narcissa Malfoy and read it more carefully this time. She was apparently head of some charitable organization that was putting on a Christmas production, and she wanted him to help her with... publicity? Viktor frowned. Did she even have the right man? He was a Quidditch player, not an actor. He shook his head and began sorting through the rest of the mail.

Half an hour later, he had two offers to sell broom polish, one offer to sell Quidditch robes, three requests to appear on various wireless Quidditch shows, an offer to appear as a centerfold in a special edition of _Quidditch Stars Uncovered_ , and three pitches from prospective agents. Ivan would have told him to choose one of the agents and hand the rest of the letters over to him or her, but Viktor had never seen eye to eye with his old teammate on endorsements. Viktor just wasn't interested. There were also eighteen fan letters, but he would answer those later. He picked up the Malfoy woman's letter again.

Her charity was raising money to benefit an education fund for war orphans. That was noble, wasn't it? It was the kind of work Viktor might like to be known for now that his Quidditch career was through. It wouldn't hurt to hear her out, find out for certain if she really wanted _him_ to publicize her little event.

Viktor summoned a quill and some paper. He was going to write back.

***

**Kingsley**

The stack of airplanes in his inbox seemed to expand by the minute this time of year, as if everyone at the Ministry had only recently realized that the end of the year was coming up quickly and all of their budget requests had to be presented to the Minister immediately. When Kingsley had taken this job over ten years ago, he hadn't thought about the paperwork.

"The downfall of many a bureaucrat, forgetting the paperwork," said a portrait of Cornelius Fudge up on the wall.

"Nonsense," barked a portrait of Rufus Scrimgeour. "Paperwork is what you have underlings for. The Minister needs to deal with matters of _real_ importance."

"The smooth running of the Ministry _is_ a matter of real importance," said Kingsley firmly. He flipped through the pages of the Department of Magical Injuries Claims' request and frowned when he found the last one missing.

"Daphne," he called out over the intercom. "Please come in here for a moment."

He was still looking down at the pie chart in his hand when he realized she was already standing there in front of him.

"Yes, Minister?" she said, her head snapping up to attention.

"Er, I'm..." He watched her blow a stray lock of hair from her forehead and smiled slightly. "I'm missing the last page here. It's from the MIC."

"Of course it is," she said, and she sounded annoyed as she took the paperwork from his hand. "I swear, if Montague had his head any further up his--" Her eyes went wide, as if she suddenly remembered where she was. "I apologize, sir."

"No apologies necessary," said Kingsley, with a chuckle. "You're not the only one who's made that assessment, you know."

Daphne lowered her pretty, dark eyes and smiled. "I'll get that missing page for you right away, sir."

Kingsley stalled for a moment, not quite ready to let her leave the office, then cursed himself for his lack of professionalism. He was the _Minister for Magic_ , for heaven's sake!

"Thank you, Daphne," he said, and with a nod, dismissed her. After she left, he stood staring at the door dumbly.

Behind him on the wall, the portrait of Cornelius Fudge cleared his throat.

"It's lucky for Britain that we're not on the verge of war," said the Scrimgeour portrait, hung opposite Fudge on the wall. "The entire Ministry could be brought to its knees right now by a single secretary batting her eyes."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Kingsley.

"If you don't mind me saying so, Kingsley, I don't understand why you haven't taken the poor girl to dinner yet," said Fudge.

"Cornelius," Kingsley said warningly.

"Stop trying to get us put back into the cupboard," said Scrimgeour. "He'll talk to her when he's good and ready. He's running wizarding Britain, for Merlin's sake! He has better things to do than chat up his secretary. He just needs to remember that!"

"Rufus!" Kingsley's voice was indignant now. "That's quite enough. I don't know what you think gives you the right to comment on my personal life--"

"But that's just it, Kingsley," said Fudge. "You haven't got one. And I'll tell you something. During the darkest days of my time as Minister, when You-Know-Who had--"

"Voldemort," Kingsley corrected absently.

"Oh, all right. When Voldemort was about to return, it was my wife who got me through the toughest of times," said Fudge.

"I'll concede that point," said Scrimgeour. "Marlene was a tremendous support before my untimely demise."

" _Enough_ ," Kingsley growled again. "One more word and it's back in the cupboard for the pair of you." He sat down at his desk and pulled another budget request from the top of the file. "I have no idea how any previous Ministers managed to get any work done with all these portraits chirping away from up on the walls like a flock of canaries."

***

**Ariadne**

"Can I help you?" The small witch wearing neatly pressed, dark purple robes tilted her head as she looked up at Ariadne, then knitted her brow as recognition struck.

"No," said Ariadne firmly, cutting off any attempt the saleswitch might make to confirm her identity. "I'm just waiting for my friends over there." She lazily tipped her head toward the rack where Andromeda and Poppy were examining costume robes.

The saleswitch's look turned to one of disbelief, as the word "friends" was an absurd notion in this context, but Ariadne simply had to raise one narrow eyebrow to elicit a muttered apology as the little woman hurried away.

She knew what they said about her. The rumors had been swirling about for years, after all. Eight dead husbands is bound to cause a stir, no matter who you are. Ariadne Zabini, however, was _somebody_ and therefore her circumstances attracted even more attention than usual. All those husbands and not a thing to show for it but an overfull vault at Gringotts and a lavish flat filled with every possible creature comfort available to the modern witch. Oh, and a completely and utterly spoiled son who lacked even the most basic capacities for compassion and empathy.

Though no one who knew her would have guessed, Ariadne felt like a failure. This latest round of rumors didn't help. When she was younger, she'd thrived on the attention, adored seeing her name splashed across the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. There was a certain thrill to being called a "gold digger", and refuting those claims publicly whilst living off her husbands' ample fortunes.

But the thrill of it all was short-lived. For soon Ariadne had an ungrateful son, a reputation that made it difficult to live in peace, and enough money that no one worth associating with wanted anything to do with her. She made people feel "inferior", she was told. She intimidated them. Well, it was true they _were_ inferior for the most part, but that didn't mean that Ariadne didn't get lonely. It wasn't like she was judging, just admitting a simple truth.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking up at Andromeda Tonks. "What was that?"

Andromeda smiled patiently. "I said this would be easier if our actress was present." She pulled a set of Victorian robes from the

Poppy waved her hand airily. "Thereabout," she said. "But pink won't do. It makes her look unwell."

"Better, then?" said Andromeda, holding up a pale blue set with lacy trim around the neckline.

"Mmm." Poppy frowned. "I suppose."

Andromeda let out a puff of air and continued digging through the rack. "What was my sister's reasoning for keeping the cast list a secret again?"

Ariadne smirked. They were thinking the same thing. This was going to take three times as long with Pansy's mother in charge of the shopping.

"She wants to make the announcement in as public a way as possible, at a press conference tomorrow afternoon," said Ariadne.

"And she couldn't alert the actors privately?"

"She'd like their reactions to be genuine," said Poppy. Then she raised a set of emerald green robes to the light. "These are perfect."

"But aren't they... _actors_?" said Andromeda. "And that's far too modern. Think older."

Ariadne turned away to hide a look of amusement. She wandered over to the storefront window and gazed out on the street. The gaudy colors and lights dancing obscenely bright all over the building in front of her made her upper lip curl in disgust, but still she watched. She looked up at the large, glowing Ws flashing in succession above the shop, and thought she remembered that Molly's son had something to do with that. A group of children raced out the front doors of the shop and into the street, squealing and laughing and setting off blue and pink and violet explosions all over the sidewalk and road.

Clucking her tongue softly, Ariadne turned away.

"Perfect!" Poppy was announcing, holding a set of ruby red robes over her head triumphantly.

Ariadne rolled her neck. That marked one costume acquired, only ten more to go.

***

  


  
**Three Weeks Before the Play**   


**Narcissa**

She supposed she should have seen it coming. After that encounter over the vanishing cabinet-- _on_ the street, in front of half of London, no less--she should have known that Harry Potter had been just lying in wait for her to slide one well-pedicured toenail out of line. Not that she'd even done that much. All she had done was plan a benefit for war orphans. No one else seemed to be interested in helping them pay for their Hogwarts' educations. Using the Palace had been a brilliant PR move. Everyone thought so.

Everyone except for the Ministry. If she had to meet with one more code inspector, she was going to start throwing hexes. The theatre was perfectly safe, it fit all of their needs, and it was centrally located. Everything the Ministry had thrown at her until now had been bureaucratic red tape, but this was serious. Possibly even vindictive if Potter was involved.

Well, if the Ministry wanted to play this game, Narcissa could do it just as well. Let them send Harry Potter to "make certain the cast, crew and audience have a safe and enjoyable evening." She would just have to do one better. And she had an idea of how to accomplish that.

Just then, the doors at the back of the theatre opened and she set down the copy of the play beside her, twisting in her seat to see Viktor Krum arriving. For a moment, when he stood with the doors open and sunlight pouring into the dark theatre all around him, the back-lighting made him look every bit the athlete that he'd once been (or that she'd _heard_ he'd once been) and he sauntered down the aisle with the slow gate of a very confident wizard.

Narcissa rose and took a few steps to meet him before he reached the first row.

"Mr Krum, I'm glad you could make it. Narcissa Malfoy," she said, offering her hand.

"Yes, I know," he said. "I recognize you."

Narcissa frowned. "You don't sound as Bulgarian as I expected."

Viktor shrugged. "Hermione Granger helped tutor me in the English language. It has taken many years, but it is easier for me now."

"Oh." Narcissa was slightly disappointed. She'd already planned out in her mind what the words would sound like when he spoke them. No matter, though, her plans were evolving anyway.

"Is something vrong, Mrs Malfoy?"

"Narcissa," she corrected sharply, then she forced her voice to soften. "Please. I would prefer that we were on more... intimate terms, Viktor. If you don't mind."

"Of course not."

"Good," said Narcissa. "Now, I wanted to speak to you about the arrangement I previously suggested."

"You vant me to promote your play, to benefit the var orphans," said Viktor.

"Yes," said Narcissa. "But there has been a minor change in those plans."

As if he'd been waiting for her to say that, Harry Potter burst into the theatre with the youngest Weasley boy yapping at his heels. Narcissa rolled her eyes.

Viktor spun around. "Harry?"

"Hello, Viktor," said Potter, nodding professionally. "Narcissa."

"Auror Potter," said Narcissa. The Weasley boy--Ronald, was it?--looked something between baffled and dismayed to see Viktor here. "I was in the middle of a professional discussion with Mr Krum. Do you mind?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he said, and he squared his jaw.

Narcissa remembered his father's arrogance in his youth, but what Potter had, it wasn't arrogance. It was... confidence. He shook the hair from his eyes. She found herself surprised that the Ministry would allow him to grow it so long, then remembered that this was _Harry Potter_ and he was likely allowed to do whatever he wanted. Well, he was in her territory now and he wasn't going to spend the day walking all over her.

"If you'd like us to continue whilst you wait," she said, waving at the row of seats behind her, "you're free to take a seat."

Potter smiled, a lop-sided grin that looked boyish on his face. "By all means," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Please, do go on."

"As you wish," said Narcissa, and she saw his eyes widen just slightly behind his glasses as he realized she'd called his bluff. "Mr Krum, I know that my original request was for you to lend your name and considerable celebrity to publicizing my cause, however, looking at you now, and taking into consideration all of your assets," here she let her gaze travel over to Potter as she reached out to lightly squeeze Viktor's bicep, "I think I'm going to ask you to join my special security detail."

"What special security detail?" said the young Weasley. Narcissa had forgotten he was there at all.

Potter simply glared.

"Auror Potter's, of course," said Narcissa, lacing her voice with a sugary sweetness that she'd use to win Bellatrix over when they were young.

"I don't accept civilians on my team," said Potter.

"I am not here to... do this thing," Viktor said, frowning down his prominent nose at her. "I am sorry, but I think I must go now."

"Oh, you can't leave us so soon," Narcissa said. "We've hardly had a chance to discuss my specific requests. I'm sure once we do you'll find that it's not an offer you're willing to walk out on."

Viktor turned away, but didn't start walking toward the exit.

"What are you up to, Narcissa?" said Potter, behaving as if he didn't even see her having a conversation with someone else.

She ignored him and continued with Viktor. "Mr Krum, as you know, the Ministry is keeping a very tight watch on this production. They feel that this theatre is a dangerous place because of the unsavory things that happened here prior to the renovation. I still want you as my spokeswizard, Mr Krum, but I thought, perhaps, we could extend your contract. Make you part of the show."

"Vat do you mean 'part of the show'?" he said, turning around now to face all three of them.

"I need an observer, Mr Krum," she said. "Auror Potter and I have something of a history, despite my saving his life several years ago," she flashed Potter an innocent smile, "and I feel it would be in the best interest of everyone involved to have someone impartial, someone whose word is seen by the world as infallible. Everyone trusts Viktor Krum. No one believes he would take sides. And he wouldn't." Her voice went sharper here. "Would he?"

"No," said Viktor quickly. "Of course not."

"Of course not," she repeated, giving Potter a satisfied look. "So, Viktor, are you interested in my offer?"

He looked to Potter for confirmation, which she had fully expected, and Potter nodded slowly.

"Yes," Viktor said. "I am in."

"Fabulous," said Narcissa. "You can start tomorrow. We'll discuss the details of our publicity campaign then. I'll meet you here at the theatre at eight am."

"I thought rehearsals vere in the evenings?"

"They are," said Narcissa. "But you and I have much to do. We'll start early tomorrow and then we'll see where the week takes us from there."

"All right," said Viktor. "I vill see you in the morning. Harry. Ron." With a cordial nod, he left.

"I don't know what you're doing," said Potter, closing in on Narcissa a few steps. "But I'm going to watch you. Carefully."

A frisson of anticipation went down her spine. She'd taken him by surprise here, and now it was his turn. He was still staring at her through those ridiculous glasses and she wanted, just for a second, to take them off his face, to look _into_ him without those little glass panes in the way.

"Mate." It was Weasley's voice that ruined it all, Weasley's hand on Potter's arm, reminding Potter where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

Potter's shoulders relaxed a bit and he took a step back. Narcissa raised her chin.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me, we have a play to rehearse tonight and I have preparations to make. Why don't you," she waved her hand in the air, "go about your business?"

Satisfied with the encounter, she turned smartly on one heel and left them alone.

***

**Charlie**

"Charlie, don't do that," Molly's voice took on that same tone of annoyance he remembered as a kid. "Those are appetizers."

"Sorry," he said around a mouthful of cubed cheese. "Had an appetite."

"I can see that," she said curtly. "Aren't they feeding you in Romania?"

Charlie shrugged. "When I remember to eat."

"For heaven's sake, Charlie," she said, but before the tirade could continue, the clock stole her attention. "Oh no. We have less than an hour before the Delacours arrive. Go wash up then come down here to help. I can't finish this all by myself."

"The Delacours?" said Charlie. "You didn't tell me we were having guests for dinner."

"Your father and I, the people who _live_ in this house, arranged it," she said, but she was smiling out of the corner of her mouth as she looked at him. "Is that all right with you?"

"Yeah," said Charlie quickly. "Of course it is. I just..." He shifted from one foot to the other, feeling restless. "I forgot they'd moved to London."

"Of course you did," Molly said breezily, sending the salad spinning with a wave of her wand. "Holed up out there in the wilderness with nothing but dragons for companionship. It's a wonder you remember you have a family at all. I've given up on getting a grandchild from you that hasn't hatched from an egg."

Charlie laughed, though his cheeks had started to go hot, and the sound was a little thinner than usual. "You know I've only got eyes for my big girls," he said.

"Well, you're probably better for it," Molly said. "Peel this." And she handed him something large and round and hard that looked like a pumpkin, only greenish.

Charlie frowned and wondered how exactly she expected him to do that.

"Just look at Ginny and George," she continued, shaking her head. "No, Charlie. It's better you take your time. Find someone special. You should hear the stories half the Auxiliary ladies have to tell."

"You still into that?" Charlie asked, biting his tongue before adding the word "nonsense" to the question. He picked up a kitchen knife and stabbed it firmly into the green pumpkin. The knife stuck.

"Am I still... Honestly, Charlie, do you never read any of the owl post we send? Well, it's a good thing you've brought it up. We're putting on a Christmas play, to benefit the war orphans."

"The war was over a decade ago," said Charlie.

"Which makes some of them old enough for Hogwarts," said Molly. "With no way to pay for it. The fund Aberforth created in Albus's name has run dry in recent years, and there's no one left to help these children."

"No one but my altruistic mum," Charlie said, raising his tall glass of water in Molly's direction.

"Stop that, now," Molly said, her cheeks going pleasantly pink as she smiled down at her salad and set the tongs aside. "It was all Narcissa's idea to begin with. And we couldn't do a thing without Andromeda, or Appolline, or even Rita, for that matter."

"Appolline Delacour? The same as is coming to dinner tonight?"

"How many Appollines do you think I know? Of course it's the same one."

"I didn't know she was in your club."

"It's not a club, Charlie. How many times must I tell you it's--"

"Sorry. Ladies' Auxiliary."

"Thank you." Molly looked up, and whatever she'd been about to say next died on her tongue. "Charlie, don't you--"

It was too late for her admonition. Charlie had cast a spell to relieve the strange pumpkin of its skin, but as soon as the outer layer disappeared, the inside exploded, shrapnel of squash and seeds flying everywhere.

"Shite."

"Watch your mouth, young man."

"I think that was called for in this instance," said Charlie, wiping a particularly stringy bit from his brow. "And don't worry, I've got much better at cleaning charms in the past few years. Ever since I was nursing those Ironbelly hatchlings with reflux in my cabin." He shuddered at the thought of it. "I'll take care of this, and then get cleaned up for dinner."

"You'd better," said Molly, frowning as she lifted a limp piece of lettuce, dripping in pumpkin guts, from the salad bowl. "I don't want to be humiliated in front of Bill's in-laws, Charlie. I'm going to change my dress."

"You do that," said Charlie. "I've got it all under control in here. All. Under. Control."

When she'd left, Charlie sank back against the kitchen sink, wondering if he could find some secret stash of puking pastilles somewhere in the house. He _had_ to get out of this dinner.

***

**Draco**

"Sorry," Draco murmured, burying his face in her dark hair as he pushed her up against the wall.

"It's the third time this week," she breathed, her head tilted back against the wall.

"Said I was sorry." The soft skin beneath her jaw was warm against his lips, and he dragged them in a slow path up to her chin. Reaching down, he slipped a hand up beneath her skirt. "Meant it."

"Oh, you'll be sorry all right," she said, and her tone was suddenly vicious, though he could hear in her voice the way her lisp curled up at the corners.

"Cho, please."

She spread her legs, just enough, and hooked one ankle behind his knee, leaning back on the wall as if he anchored her here.

"What are you begging me for, Draco?" she whispered.

He couldn't think. She tasted so good, _always_ tasted so good. "Not begging," he said. "Just... want..."

She slid her long nails down his back, digging into his arse, pulling him to her.

"What do you want, lover?" she said.

"You." The word was a hiss over her ear, his voice hot and low.

She shuddered, slid her instep up the back of his thigh, and suddenly her sex was pressed against his palm, her knickers warm and damp. In thirteen months he still hadn't grown used to how quickly she could make herself ready for him.

"You want me, too," Draco said, unaccountably pleased that he'd managed to inject a bit of confidence into his voice. She had him so wound up that he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be capable of coherent speech at all. "You want me right here, outside. Where anyone can pass by and see us."

"I want you every way I can have you." She was riding his hand now, her hips rolling in deliberate circles, every round pushing that skirt a little higher on her thighs.

Draco's finger snaked in beneath the edge of her knickers and pressed inside her. She hissed and bit down on his earlobe.

"Cho. _Cho_." Faster than it had come, the confidence abandoned his words and he slid another finger into her, grinding against her thigh.

"What is it, baby?" she said, wrapping herself around his shoulders for leverage as she hooked one leg at a time around his waist, and pulled her body up.

He slammed her against the wall, holding her there with his weight as he fumbled to open his trousers, to pull out his cock, to find his damn wand so he could cast all the preventative spells without missing out on a second of being _in_ her.

"Want to be inside you," he groaned, and only a few seconds later, he was. He let up just enough for her to slide down his cock, the sound of her shuddering intake of breath filling up the alley all around them.

"Draco," she whispered, and that was what he'd wanted. His name, curling hotly around his neck on the sound of her voice. "I love you."

"Merlin fuck." Draco bit down hard on his lower lip, until he was sure it might bleed, holding off for just a little bit longer before he began to thrust. Every time she said that, he came undone. And Christ, she loved to toy with him.

"Love you, too," he said finally, pulling out of her just enough to drive back in again. "So good."

"S'always so good," she said, the words running together as she tightened all around him.

He just couldn't stand it. He wanted to slide in and out of her slowly, to bring her off over and over again until he was ready to come, but she made him lose control every time. It was like the most delicious challenge he'd ever faced, and that he'd never been able to meet it, never been able to set the pace himself, only made him want it more.

"Cho," he said, pressing his forehead to hers as he fucked her. "Gonna come soon."

She was trembling, but her grin was wicked, and her tongue darted up to trail along his upper lip.

"I know, love. You can't help yourself," she said. It was like she knew him inside out, like she saw through him and into him and made him nearly sick with wanting.

" _Cho_."

"I know, baby. Come inside me. Come _for_ me. With me."

Draco cried out, the sound strained and hoarse, and he came as she did.

***

**Charlie**

Dinner with the Delacours was painful. There was no getting around it. From the second she walked through the door, Appolline acted as if nothing had ever happened. As if Charlie had never been more than a relative by marriage. As if he didn't exist except in her periphery.

He, on the other hand, seemed determined to act like a lovesick schoolboy, and could hardly bring himself to eat. All he could think of was the night of Bill's wedding, after he'd danced with Fleur and reminded himself a thousand times that he didn't really envy Bill all this happiness, he just needed to get laid more often. Then he'd danced with Appolline, and hadn't stopped touching her until he had her bent over a picnic table out back under cloak of darkness and a do-not-notice charm, and even then it was only to throw his trousers open before sliding inside her and--No. He wasn't going to think about it.

Not about the way her accent draped every word in sex as she whispered in his ear while they danced.

Not about the way her hair felt wrapped loosely around his fist.

Not about the way she'd smiled at him over her shoulder, flushing beautifully as she caught her breath.

She was his brother's mother-in-law. Fleur's mother. His parents' guest. And her husband was sitting beside her. He wished he would stop thinking that Appolline could do so much better.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, pushing the mashed potatoes across his plate with his fork. Arthur was talking now, and Charlie tried to catch up with the conversation.

"Has Gabrielle finally adjusted?" asked Arthur.

"In ze last few weeks, it 'as been better," said Monsieur Delacour.

 _Hell_ , thought Charlie, _I don't even know his real name_. "What's that?" he said, hoping he'd kept the guilt out of his voice.

"Gabrielle was angry for a long time, zat we 'ad moved so far away. But she understands now. Our place is in London, closer to ze grandbabies," he said.

 _Right_. Charlie vaguely remembered Bill telling him something about that.

"Well, I'm glad to hear everyone in your family is getting on again," Charlie said, glancing up. He'd meant to look at Mr Delacour, but his gaze wandered quite of its own accord over to Appolline.

Appolline, who was watching him through ridiculously long lashes, her smile cool and patient. She was waiting for him to come to her.  

"Zank you, Charlie," she said, and her lips twitched, just the slightest bit, and for a second he swore she was blowing him a kiss.

 _Fuck it all to hell_.

Charlie got to his feet and dropped his napkin onto the table. "I'm sorry," he said. "Dinner was great, Mum. I've just... ah, got a thing. To check up on. At the sanctuary. Pigwidgeon still handy for sending a letter?" Ron had given his old owl to the Burrow when poor Errol's heart had finally given out a few years ago.

"Why don't you just use the Floo Network?" said Molly. "We have a connection right over there."

"No," Charlie said quickly. "Ah, a letter is easier. There's some sensitive information. About dragon parts and such. Wouldn't be appropriate dinnertime conversation if you catch my meaning."

"Of course," said Arthur. "Go ahead, Charlie. I'm sure your mother would be happy to keep a plate under a warming charm for you."

"Tha  
nks," said Charlie. Then he nodded politely at their guests. "It was nice to see you again."

He didn't let her answer before leaving the table, and he took the stairs two at a time. In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and looked in the mirror. Did he have adulterer written all over his face? Because it sure as hell had felt like it downstairs. He had to pull it the fuck together.

Then he opened the door and _she_ was standing there.

"Excuse me," she said breathily, running one fingertip down his chest, "but is zis ze way to za toilette?"

Every internal part of him wound itself up in knots, but he managed to nod behind him as he pushed past her. She turned to follow him and he stopped, but didn't move.

"Charlie. We should talk," she said.

Charlie shook his head, still didn't turn around. "Nothing to talk about."

"It is true, you did not do much talking the night of our encounter," she said, "but zat is somezing I like about you."

Now he turned around, her soft voice too enticing to ignore, and shook his head.

"This is crazy," he said, barely more than a whisper. "You're married. You're Bill's mother-in-law."

"Zat word makes me feel so old," she said, smiling comfortably as she approached him. He didn't back away.

When she put her hands on his chest, and slid them up over his shoulders, he knew he'd lost the fight entirely. He buried his face in her hair, all of it coming back to him now as he inhaled the scent of her: that night before Bill's wedding, her legs wrapped high around his waist, the pad of his thumb flicking over her nipple, the salty-sweet taste of her skin.

"I used to know right from wrong," he said, nearly trembling with the self control it took not to press his mouth to her throat. "I used to be really good at always choosing the right thing."

"Per'aps it is not what is right 'ere," she said, brushing her fingertips over his temple. Then she took his hand in her own and pressed it to his chest. "But what you feel in 'ere."

All Charlie could feel there at the moment was the heavy-hard thundering of his heart, and the compelling desire to have her, as if the whole world ceased to exist outside that door.

"Come, Charlie," she said, and she pulled him back until she was falling, and he was going with her, landing above her on the mattress with her lithe, inviting body spread out beneath him. "Zis was your bed, when you were a young man?"

"Yeah." He pushed his way through her hair with his nose until he found bare throat, then drew his tongue up along a pulsing vein. Her hands were tangling in his hair and he felt like a marionette, as if he'd do _anything_ she wanted as long as she didn't stop tugging on his strings. "Want this so bad."

"Mmm, yes," she said. She drew one knee up alongside him. "I can feel 'ow much you want me. It is one of the zings I like best about you."

Charlie couldn't help himself, he laughed as he mouthed his way along her jaw, one hand skating down her side to rest on her hip. "You think moral bankruptcy is a turn on?"

"You are too 'ard on yourself, Charlie," she said. "You are a beautiful man, young and virile and so 'andsome. We are both adults. We can choose to take pleasure in zis if we wish."

He pulled away, resting his weight on his elbows as he looked down with her. A few strands of pale, shimmering hair had fallen across her forehead and over her eye, and he brushed them away with his fingertips.

"You make it sound like it isn't wrong at all," he said. "But if anyone knew what we were doing up here--"

She pressed a slender finger to his lips. "Shhh. Zis is just for you and me. No one else."

Charlie bit gently on the tip of her finger, growling softly from low in his chest. Her eyes fell closed and she arched up into him and he felt it reverberate through his entire body.

"Fuck," he whispered, and he half-smiled. " _Fuck_. I just can't help myself."

He knew it was the veela in her, it had to be, but he couldn't force himself to believe that was _all_ it was. He couldn't remember ever wanting like this. Not in all his life.

***

**Pansy**

Rehearsal was not the dreadfully boring thing that Pansy had expected. She wanted to be an actress, of course she did, but she'd never much been sold on the idea of rehearsal being an enjoyable experience. In fact, she found it tedious and dull most of the time. Most of the time being the two plays she'd been in previously: once as a chorus girl who sat on a flying carpet high above the stage, appearing so small to the seats down below that she may as well have been a trained kitten, and once as an old woman who offered a poisoned apple to the beautiful and innocent princess on the night before her wedding to the prince. Pansy never even talked about that one.

This play was better, different. She was going to be the lead character. She had a chance to be noticed, and she wasn't going to let it pass her by. Even if it was a Muggle play. That Pansy didn't even necessarily understand. The dialogue was bewildering at best, incomprehensible at worst. She knew the meaning of the words she was supposed to speak and couldn't for the life of her figure out why she couldn't just speak plainly. She would never get Muggles.

The upside to all of this, however, had been Narcissa's new security team. Pansy liked to pretend (and she would never divulge this to anyone, not even Daphne) that they were really _her_ security guards, keeping watch over her to protect her from crazed fans and jealous fellow actors. It was a fantasy that got her through some of the slower parts of rehearsal, like when they were waiting for some technical aspect of the set to be repaired, or when Narcissa was arguing with the director, a wizard by the name of R. E. Cratchit, about the smallest detail that no one else would even notice.

It required pretending that different heads resided on Potter's and Weasley's bodies, but that wasn't so hard. She was a thespian, after all. She had decided that their physiques were passable enough, but she couldn't look at them and take her daydream seriously. Viktor Krum, however, did not have to change a thing about himself. He was perfect, just the way he was: handsome with interesting enough flaws, and quiet. So wonderfully quiet. It almost made up for Weasley prattling on every evening as if no other sound on earth pleased him as much as his own voice.

Pansy stood back stage, pouring herself a tall glass of water from a pitcher that magically strained away bits of lavender and sliced lemons. She was just thinking about how perhaps it wasn't the most fortunate thing that Viktor had never spoken to her, since she was beginning to wonder what he would say if given the chance, when someone edged in just beside her to reach for a muffin.

She glanced over to the side, and then up, following the line of Viktor's shoulder to his throat, and then his face.

"Hello," he said, his voice soft and friendly.

"Hi," said Pansy. And for once, she couldn't think of a single word to follow her greeting.

After a moment's pause, during which Viktor began picking individual poppy seeds from the top of his muffin one at a time, he spoke again.

"I admire very much your job," he said.

"My... oh! The acting! Yes." Pansy felt her cheeks redden and quickly smoothed her hair down over them. "Thank you."

"You are welcome."

"I, um, admire the job you're doing as well," she said. It had to be clumsiest attempt at small talk she'd ever made. "The security job, I mean. We all feel very safe."

"Vell, I am glad," said Viktor. "I haff heard that I am protecting you from such horrible crimes as pick-pocketing and loitering."

Pansy giggled, then swallowed the juvenile sound, trying to collect herself. She rather came off as if she were choking on her water.

"Are you all right?" Viktor's face was suddenly concerned, a frown creasing his thick brows above his distinguished, crooked nose.

"Oh yes," Pansy said, managing a smile as she sipped her water. What was wrong with her? Maybe she'd just been acting too much lately. Maybe she was all acted out, and now chatting up a handsome man was just beyond her. "My throat is dry, that's all. From all the acting."

Viktor smiled again and she liked that look much better on him. "Of course," he said. "You haff been working very hard."

Pansy thought she would like to respond to that, but from somewhere in the theatre, Narcissa called her name, and she shrugged as she set down her water.

"I'm sorry. I have to go. It was lovely talking with you, Viktor."

"Vith you as vell, Pansy," he said, and he tipped his head cordially.

Pansy found herself just watching him for a moment, before Narcissa called out again and she rushed away.

***

**Ariadne**

Anyone could have run this errand, but she had been the one to volunteer. If someone had asked, she wouldn't have been able to put her finger on exactly why she wanted to visit the tacky shop, especially when Molly's son was the person to see.

"George owns the shop," Molly had told her. "Just ask for him and he'll know where it is. And tell him that I said not even Merlin himself will be able to help him if he laces that box with any surprises."

Ariadne thought perhaps that comment had sealed her involvement. It had been a very long time since she'd had any sort of adventure, having long ago secured a particular reputation. She needed a little surprise in her life, something out of the ordinary. And this loud, garish shop was certainly fitting of that bill.

A red-headed man in a lime green suit with a magenta tie was handing out twirling lollipops to a group of youngsters pressing through the crowd of parents. She waited until he was finished to approach him.

"You're one of Molly's boys, aren't you?" she said, knowing well already that he was. She even knew which of Molly's boys, but years of practice at not playing her hand in its entirety had her acting coy.

"George Weasley, at your service," he said, holding out his hand.

Ariadne took it slowly. "Ariadne Zabini," she said.

"I know," he said. "I mean, everyone knows. Not that that's a bad thing. 'Infamous' has the word 'famous' in it, after all."

"I suppose it does," she said, wondering why it didn't sound like an insult. If anyone else had spoken those words, she would have been livid. She examined him. His ears didn't quite match up and after a moment, she remembered. He'd lost one in the war. The other must have been prosthetic.

He followed her gaze and reached up to touch it. "Top of the crop model," he said. "Fresh off our new line. I can hear through three walls, muffling charms, _and_ pick up the sound of a butterfly landing on a dandelion half way across the country."

"I find that hard to believe," she said.

George grinned and it was charming. "I overshot on that last bit," he said. "It does work better than the average ear, though. Just not as good as the extendable variety. Yet. But that's a hopeful word: yet. Don't you think? Now, what can I help you with?"

"I..." She hadn't been able to follow any of what he'd been saying prior to his question. "I'm here to pick up an order for the play. Your mother--"

"Ah, yes! That play! Of course. Right this way. Mind your step," he said, hopping deftly over a tumbling row of pygmy puffs in the aisle.

Ariadne waited for them to pass and followed him into the stockroom. It was deceivingly large, with stacks of towering boxes lining all four walls and teetering ominously toward them.

"Don't worry," George called out over his shoulder. "They won't fall. No one's better at temporary sticking charms than Lee, and he's been over this place with a fine tooth comb. Of course, he's abandoned us this holiday season to spend time with his newborn baby, the wanker, so we're without his expertise, but I think it will be just fine regardless. As long as you're quick on your feet." He glanced back over his shoulder and winked.

She didn't know what to make of him. No one talked to her like this, ever. Not with such familiarity and a complete lack of... fear. It was as if he didn't care who she was at all. The thought of that was beyond intriguing.

"I've never been accused of moving slowly," she said, and she quirked an eyebrow at him.

George grinned again, broadly, and just stared at her for a moment. A thrill of delight ran down her spine.

"Mr Weasley, the package please."

"Of course!" he said, and he turned away with a slight shake of the head. He raised his wand, flicked his wrist, and a large box came soaring out of one of the stacks.

The other boxes in the pile collapsed down into the empty space it had left, and for a moment, Ariadne thought the whole thing was about to cave in on them. She took a few quick steps toward George.

"Don't worry, lovely lady," he said, casting a charm to flatten the boxes up against the wall. He shrank the large package and tucked it into a paper bag. "I told you, you're perfectly safe back here with me." He thrust the bag into her hands.

"Perhaps safety is overrated," said Ariadne, taking the bag.

"It's like you took the words right out of my mouth," said George. He considered her for another long moment, but this time, it wasn't out of bald curiosity. She knew that look. It was intrigue.

"Dinner," he said, the word sudden and jarring.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dinner, with me. Have it."

Ariadne's lips twitched. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, come on now," he said. "You've been married eight times--or is it nine by now? Ten? At any rate, this can't be the first time you've been asked on a date."

"A date," she said, fully amused now. "With _you_?"

"And why not?" said George. "You certainly find me attractive enough, anyone can see that. We've got chemistry."

"We've never even had a proper conversation, Mr Weasley."

"Oh, you can call me George now that we're dating. Mr Weasley is my dad."

"We're not dating."

"Not yet. But as soon as you accept my offer, we will be."

"You seem terribly confident, Mr--George."

"Is there a reason I shouldn't be?"

She gave that question careful consideration. It had been a very long time since she'd caused a proper scandal. Would Molly be horrified? Perhaps. Would it be worth it? Her gaze trailed over him from head to toe.

Most definitely.

"All right, George. If you make the arrangements and I find them acceptable, we'll have dinner. But I wouldn't call it dating if I were you. Not yet."

"I like the sound of that," said George. "Yet is a hopeful word."

Ariadne smiled and turned away. "Good day, George. I'll look forward to hearing from you."

Either she had just lost her mind entirely, or she was finally going to have some real fun.

***

  


  
**Two Weeks Before the Play**   


**Daphne**

"Leaving early today?"

Kingsley's voice was low and deep from the doorway of his office, and entirely unexpected. Daphne, who had been collecting her boots from beneath her desk, banged her head on the open drawer above her.

"Um, yes," she said, a little bashfully, crawling out from beneath the desk with her boots in hand. "I put in my request last week. Pa--A good friend has an... event and... she needs... moral support." She tried to remember the exact wording she'd used on the paperwork last week. It sounded so much better in writing.

"Oh, yes," said Kingsley, leaning against the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. "Miss Parkinson's luncheon reception."

Daphne's eyes widened a little bit, but she realized how silly it was to think she could hide it from him. He'd sent two of his best Aurors to keep an eye on Narcissa (because she knew him well enough to understand his _real_ concern). He had to know everything that was going on with the play.

"Yeah," she said finally, "that."

"Are you going alone?" he asked.

"Well, I'm only arriving alone. I promised Pansy I'd be there for--Oh. _Oh_. You meant am I bringing a date? Um..."

"I'm sorry," said Kingsley, holding up a hand. "None of my business."

"No, it's all right. Really," said Daphne, smiling even though the corners of her mouth trembled a bit. "I mean, I don't have a boyfriend, or anything. Not to take to that sort of thing. I just... I'm going for Pansy."

Kingsley nodded, and the small smile that spread across his lips was unreadable to her. She'd never seen it before. He rarely smiled to begin with, and this expression looked unfamiliar on his face; it was so casual.

"Sir?" she said, before she lost all her nerve.

"Yes?"

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Have I--No. No, I haven't."

She took a deep breath. "Molly Weasley is cooking, so it's going to be quite a buffet."

"Are you asking me to attend with you, Daphne?"

"Not as a date," she said quickly. "Unless... Well, no. I mean, you're the Minister and I'm your secretary, and that just wouldn't be... I mean, it _could_ be, but... Not a date. Just lunch. As friends? Or, I don't know. Maybe you don't want your secretary as a friend--" He held up his hand again and she stopped talking.

Daphne shoved one arm into her coat, and then the other, cinching the belt tightly around her waist as she waited for him to shoot her down.

But he didn't.

"I suppose it would be good press for Miss Parkinson's play if the Minister lent his support to the endeavor," he said, and his smile had broadened now, as if there were a thousand things he wasn't saying hiding beneath it.

"I think it would be," Daphne said, grinning stupidly now. "Yes."

"Clear my lunch schedule, Miss Greengrass, and I'll get my cloak."

***

**Harry**

The woman was insufferable. He'd known this coming into it all, even Draco had warned him to stay out of her way and just do his job, but she was dead brilliant at crawling under his skin. And setting up shop there. In fact, Harry was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to shower her off him at the end of the day. Everything she did within sight of him seemed to be designed specifically to press his buttons. He felt like a mouse who'd been cornered by a kneazle. Every turn seemed an opportunity for her to toy with him.

And she was enjoying it.

"Give her a chance," Andromeda had said. "My sister has made some very impressive changes." Harry rolled his eyes. Narcissa had everyone else fooled, even Molly, but not him. She had ulterior motives. He just knew it.

"Aurors Potter and Weasley!" Her voice scored its way up the back of his neck and Harry turned around slowly, in time with Ron. "If you'd like to make yourselves useful, tables A and D still need three chairs a piece."

"I'm not here to set up your party, Narcissa," said Harry.

"No, but you're an able-bodied young man and if I leave it up to the Ladies' Auxiliary, well," she turned that predatory gaze on Ron, "I suppose I could ask Molly for assistance. How is her back these days, Auror Weasley? She was in such pain last summer."

"She plays dirty, she does," Ron murmured, and he loped off to get some extra chairs.

"Proud of yourself?" said Harry.

Narcissa looked around the small banquet room off the main theatre demonstratively. White and silver decorations dangled in the air like snowflakes and charmed chandeliers floated above each table.

"Very," she said, smirking at him. He'd always thought Draco had inherited that particular look from his father, but apparently it had been Narcissa. "Our decorations committee has done an impressive job."

"Oh, yeah," said Harry. "I'm sure the war orphans would be thrilled with all of this. You know, if any of them had been invited."

"Do you think these children really care about fancy luncheons?" said Narcissa, and everything about her hardened: her voice, the line of her mouth, her stance. "They want an _education_ , Potter, and it is our job to help see that they get it. Not every one of them had a vault full of gold left by mummy and daddy."

Harry's temper spiked and he scowled at her. "Because you know so much about it, don't you, Narcissa?"

She raised one elegant eyebrow. "More than you know, I suspect," she said evenly. "Oh look, my son has arrived. Draco!" she called out, waving him down.

Draco scanned the room in slight confusion for a moment, then caught sight of her. His eyes widened when he saw Harry beside her, but Harry gave a slight shake of his head, indicating that there was no worrisome situation, and Draco nodded in return.

"I was hoping you wouldn't arrive alone," Narcissa said, a pout evident in her voice as Draco approached.

"I didn't--"

"You've brought a date! Lovely. It really is about time, Draco. A young man your age-- _Oh_." The statement faded away as soon as the next man entered the room. "You've brought your father."

Harry snorted, but somehow managed to school his face impassively before her head snapped around so she could glare at him.

"Narcissa," Lucius said coolly.

"Lucius," she said, and she drew a long breath through her nose. "Well. I suppose the two of you would like to be seated together."

"Of course," said Lucius.

"Auror Potter, could you please escort my son and ex-husband to their seats?"

"I'm not your maitre d'," said Harry. He tried hard not to look at Draco, who appeared thoroughly amused.

"You also haven't been useful in any sense of the word since your arrival," said Narcissa. "Let's remedy that, shall we?"

Harry's vision clouded with red around the edges, and he pointed to one of the tables near the front.

"Draco, you and your father can sit over there," he said. "Narcissa, would you mind stepping outside for a word?"

Draco looked as though he'd rather take his chances with a herd of hippogriffs than miss out on whatever was about to happen, but he reluctantly tugged on Lucius's arm and set off for the table, glancing back at Harry and Narcissa every few paces.

"I don't see why we can't have words right here," she said. "You've never been averse to making a scene before."

"You want a scene, Narcissa, I'd be happy to hand you a scene," Harry said, unaware of the rising volume of his voice, of Ron rushing back from where he'd been setting out chairs, or of Kingsley arriving with Daphne and pausing in the doorway to stop and watch.

She folded her arms over her chest, looking down on him regally, the cut of her suit and purse of her lips daring him to cross her. Harry was only too happy to oblige.

"Please, Auror Potter, air your grievances. I'm sure we'd all be thrilled to hear them."

"You want me to tell you what I really think about this... sham charity? In front of all these people?"

Her face contorted, eyes narrowing, lips trembling, and Harry felt the satisfaction of knowing that he'd made her just as angry as she'd made him.

"Do tell," she said tightly.

"Well, Narcissa, this is how I see it. _You_ are taking advantage of all these people, of your sister and Mrs Weasley, who are dear friends of mine, and you're using them to catapult yourself into the public eye again. You want your name to be relevant. You've dropped the dead weight," he half-nodded toward the table where Draco had taken Lucius to sit, "and now you're ready to prove that you can restore your family name and garner the attention of all of wizarding London." He smirked as he finished, a triumphant swell of air rising in his chest.

It didn't last long. Though he had no doubt that Narcissa's response would have been equally vicious and almost satisfying to hear, it was Kingsley's voice that came next.

"Quite enough, Auror Potter," he said, then he strode forward a few steps, Daphne hesitating in the doorway behind him. Finally, she settled for wringing her hands over the handle of her purse as she waited.

"I knew there were issues between the two of you, but I had assumed that as adults, you would feel obligated to put the cause before any personal thoughts of pride or malice. Clearly, I was mistaken."

"Sir--" Harry began, but Kingsley just shook his head.

"I said that was enough out of you. _Both_ of you." Kingsley turned a dark look on Narcissa. "This is a charity event and I expect everyone involved to act as such," said Kingsley. " _Especially_ those representing the Ministry."

He had come closer to them by then, and Harry felt the awful, uncomfortable flutter of shame deep in his belly as he lowered his gaze. He hadn't been dressed down like this since two years ago when, for some reason he still couldn't explain, he had believed Hermione's birthday was  two days after the actual date. And even then, her rant had been more exasperation than chastisement. Not so with Kingsley. He was angry.

And Harry couldn't blame him. Harry would have torn into any other Auror he caught doing the same. He glanced up at Narcissa again, who stood a little bit taller than him in her high heels, her hair perfectly coiffed, her makeup flawless, and he wanted to reduce her to... desperation.

Harry stood silently for a moment. He hadn't seen that coming. Why would he... Since when was he... attracted to _Narcissa_? Maybe Ginny had been right, that his addiction to the job was going to be his downfall. It was starting to make him see things that weren't there.

All right, so maybe he _was_ noticing what was actually there, but he should have been able to rise above it, not think about it at all. But trying not to think about it seemed to end in Harry thinking about it even more.

"Of course, sir," he said, and he found some relief in the knowledge that Narcissa was returning his hard stare with equal intensity. "I would never purposely do something that reflects poorly on the Ministry."

Narcissa made a small, coughing sound, but Harry ignored it. So, apparently, did Kingsley.

"I'm glad to hear that," Kingsley said. "Why don't you and Auror Weasley take a look outside? We'd hate to hear that our former squatters have decided this is a good time to return."

Harry scowled. He didn't want to leave. Ron was beside him then, though, tugging at his sleeve and pressing on the small of his back, and forcing him to head for the exit.

Narcissa simply smiled. "Don't worry, Auror Potter," she called out after him. "I'll make up a plate for you so you don't miss lunch."

Harry turned away swiftly, and his Auror robes snapped so hard behind him that it invoked the image of Snape, which only seemed to feed his foul mood.

"What was all that about?" Ron whispered in Harry's ear the moment they were clear of the doorway.

"Nevermind," said Harry. "S'not important."

"Whatever you say, mate," said Ron, but he knew Harry well enough to indulge him for now.

Harry took a deep breath and pushed a hand through his hair. He needed to figure out how to do his job without letting Narcissa Malfoy get to him.

***

**Kingsley**

Kingsley was still watching the doors through which Potter had just disappeared as they took their seats.

"I knew it was bad, but I had no idea it was _that_ bad," said Daphne, shaking her head as she took the chair he'd pulled out for her.

"Narcissa Malfoy is not the easiest woman to work with," said Kingsley.

"I know," said Daphne. "My sister almost married Draco. The wedding was shaping up to be a nightmare."

"I can only imagine," said Kingsley, chuckling as he turned his attention back to the table. "And why didn't that work out?"

"Oh," said Daphne, frowning, "well, I never did get all the details, but Pa--a friend of mine thinks that Draco might be gay. Oh, I shouldn't have said that. I mean, there's nothing wrong with it, of course! Theodore's gay, and he's Draco's best friend. That's actually one of the reasons Pansy thinks it's true. It's tragic, really. Draco's afraid to come out to his family, so he has to disguise their love as friendship. It's also quite romantic, though, now that I think about it. Very Shakespearian."

Kingsley pressed his lips together, but couldn't suppress his smile.

"I've made an idiot out of myself again," said Daphne. "Haven't I?"

"Not at all," said Kingsley. "Catching up on mundane gossip is refreshing." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned over her shoulder. "No one ever confides in the Minister about _anything_ interesting."

Daphne was watching him sideways, and he noticed, not for the first time, how big her eyes were, how luminous, and as the smile spread across her face, they seemed to light up.

"Well, good," she said, and she took a sip from her water glass before turning to face him fully. "Because there's so much more where that came from!"

The issues with Potter and Malfoy forgotten, Kingsley leaned back in his chair, thoroughly enjoying himself for the first time in ages.

***

**Pansy**

"Don't you get to sit down?" Pansy said, offering a glass of eggnog to Viktor when she found him standing by the wall, as stiff as one of those suits of armor guarding empty Hogwarts' halls.

"If you haff not noticed, I am the only security here at the moment" he said, and he looked faintly amused as he nodded toward the door through which Potter and Weasley had disappeared. "Thank you." He took the drink and smiled.

"You're welcome," said Pansy, momentarily losing the ability to continue with a coherent conversation.

"You vere excellent in rehearsal last night," he said.

She felt ridiculous, her cheeks reddening at even the slightest compliment from him. Since when was she some nervous, blushing virgin? It was as if she were channelling Daphne.

"I'm glad you think so," she said.

"I do," said Viktor.

They looked at each other, but only for a second, before looking in opposite directions, as if they'd both been about to blurt out something entirely embarrassing or inappropriate. She thought of a part she'd read for last year, a nervous, insecure woman who was always stumbling over the words when she tried to speak to men. Pansy had _hated_ that character with a passion, and was secretly pleased when she didn't get the role. Now it seemed she was doomed to live it.

_Merlin, Pansy. Dramatic much?_

"So," she said, forcing the word out with such conviction that it sprang from her mouth ten times louder than it should have.

Viktor jumped and turned back to her. Pansy just stared at him in embarrassed horror.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes!" she said, somehow managing to resist the urge to bang the back of her head against the wall. "I am! Just fine." She cleared her throat and tried to act casual. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you shouted just now," said Viktor, looking thoroughly confused. "Quite loudly."

"Did I?" Pansy said, feigning surprise. "I hadn't noticed."

Viktor's brows bent together in confusion, and she found him even more adorable with that expression on his face than she'd thought possible, but before he could say anything else, Potter and Weasley returned to the room, followed by the low hum of murmurs that moved from table to table like a swarm of bees.

"It appears I haff been relieved," said Viktor. "Vould you like to sit down?"

The tight knot that had formed at the base of Pansy's neck suddenly unwound, and she smiled.

"I would love to."

***

**George**

"Of all the stupid, self-destructive things you've ever done George Weasley! You're going on a _date_ with Ariadne Zabini? Do you not read the papers?"

Sometimes, George thought, Verity was capable of hitting the exact same fevered pitch as his mother when she ranted.

"It's one date, Ver," he said, straightening the lavender tie she'd chosen for him before she knew that Ariadne was his date. "Just for a laugh. It's been awfully dull around here without Lee and Ron lately."

He glanced up in the mirror to catch her stony glare. "Oh, don't take that personally! You're fun in your own way. You just... have that work ethic thing going on. It's a bit of a downer around the holidays is all. Not very festive."

"I should hope not," she said. "Especially when your idea of 'festive' is spending the evening with one of the most notorious black widows of all time."

"Now that's something of an overstatement, don't you think?" said George.

Verity made a low, non-committal sound that came out more like a growl than anything.

"Why don't we leave the shop in Daryl's hands tonight?" said George. "You take the evening off, too."

"No," she said, after a moment's pause during which George had been almost certain she'd considered it. "The Christmas inventory still needs to be finished. I'm not leaving until it's done."

George had known her for a very long time now, and he was certain that the idea of slowly circumambulating the stockroom, clipboard and quill in hand, appealed to Verity far more than a night on the town.

"If you're sure," he said. "Then I'll be off." He licked two fingers and smoothed down a bit of hair that had gone unruly on top of his head.

"It's your funeral," she said, in a careless tone that he knew was just for show. "Possibly literally."

"I live for danger, Verity! You should know that by now. My name translates to 'danger' in seven languages."

"Get out of here, you big liar."

George laughed. "First you have to tell me how gorgeous I look."

"You look... presentable. I'm sure any gold digger would be proud to have you as her date."

"Hey now, that wasn't very nice," said George. "Ariadne's no gold digger. She's amassed quite the fortune from all those unfortunate husbands. Probably a hundred times what Wheezes is worth!"

"I find that comforting. I'm just glad I made you get your will in order last month."

"Don't know what I'd do without you, love," said George, and he dropped a kiss on her cheek that she promptly wiped away. "And yes, I signed on the line. In the event of my untimely demise, your contract with the shop is secure."

"How morbidly comforting," said Verity.

George grinned. "If anyone can appreciate my macabre side, it's you, Ver." As an afterthought, he summoned a top hat from his office and placed it on his head. "Ah. Outfit complete. M'dear." He bowed regally, then let Verity shoo him from the shop.

Ariadne was waiting at the restaurant as he arrived, and when she turned to watch his approach, George almost stumbled. It wasn't that he'd never been attracted to an older woman before, because he had, even if it had just been in passing. But this was different. _She_ was different. Totally and completely different than anyone he'd ever met before.

For one thing, she was undoubtedly out of his league. He hadn't been lying when he told Verity that his net worth was only a fraction of Ariadne's. There was no conceivable reason she would have agreed to this dinner just to get her hands on his money. She was gorgeous, confident, quick-witted, sexy... He could go on and on. What she was doing here, at a casual wizarding restaurant, with a man nearly as young as her son, well, he had no idea.

But here she was. And here he was. Standing three paces away from her and staring.

She pursed her lips and tilted her head. "I was under the impression I was here for a date with George Weasley," she said. "But I recall him being a bit more... talkative. Not to mention suave."

George blinked and swallowed. "I thought you said it wasn't a date," he said, finally recovering.

"I said no such thing." She took his arm as he offered it. "I said we weren't dating. There's a difference."

"Yet," said George, escorting her to the doors.

"Ah, yet," she said. "That hopeful word again."

"You're catching on now," he said.

The first flash bulbs went off before they were inside the restaurant.

"I hope they remembered which was my good side," she quipped.

"That's easy tonight," said George. "It's the side I'm standing on, of course."

Ariadne glanced at him slyly. "Of course," she said, and she gave his arm a little squeeze.

They were seated quickly, and George slipped into the chair on the opposite side of the table for two, then scooted it over until he was adjacent to her seat. Both Ariadne and the newly arrived waitress looked at him with puzzlement.

"It's an awfully formal thing," George explained, "to sit on the opposite side of the table from your date. I prefer a bit more intimacy is all."

"If you wanted intimacy, perhaps you shouldn't have chosen an establishment with paper placemats," said the waitress dryly.

Ariadne stifled a laugh. George shot her an amused look.

"Touché, miss," he said.

She set out two glasses of water without smiling and returned to the kitchen. George leaned nearer Ariadne.

"What you pay for in this place is the top notch service," he said.

She laughed again. "I'll admit, I haven't been in a restaurant of this... class in many years."

"Pity that," said George. "There's a good deal more entertainment here than you'll find at any of those hoity-toity fancy establishments."

"I can well imagine," she said, frowning as she scrutinized the water glass.

"Don't worry," said George. "I guarantee that whatever might be lingering on the glassware is non-lethal in nature. Most probably."

Ariadne smiled and set the glass down. "I suppose I should be grateful it didn't come with a straw."

George reached into his breast pocket and pulled out two elaborately twisted straws, handing her one. "I've got us covered," he said.

The initial horror on her face turned to curiosity as she watched him drop the long end of his straw into his glass, then slowly begin sucking the water through the loops until it reached his mouth.

"See?" he said, after he'd drank a bit. "I'm not dead yet. What better endorsement will you find?"

She considered him for a moment, then placed her own straw in her water glass.

"Nothing comes to mind," she said. "Do you know something, George Weasley? I think you might have a chance at a second date after all."

"And then we'll officially be dating," said George.

"Well, I wouldn't count on _that_ ," she said, and she smirked. "Yet."

***

**Cho**

Marietta adjusted the magical knitting on her lap and reached for her cup of tea.

"So you still haven't met them?" she said, glancing up at Cho as she sipped.

Cho shook her head and tried to shrug, but didn't really have the heart for it. Marietta had been on about this for a very long time now, but it was only in the last few weeks that Cho had begun to worry.

"I've met them, just... never in the context of being Draco's girlfriend," said Cho.

Marietta shook her head, curls bouncing against her cheeks. "I don't know why you put up with it, Cho."

"I love him," Cho said, and it occurred to her that every time she'd said it lately, her voice held a little less conviction.

"Love can only take you so far," said Marietta, and she gazed into her teacup thoughtfully. "You know what happened with me and Michael."

"This is different," said Cho, though she wasn't so sure. She'd been the last person to expect that Michael Corner would leave Marietta at the altar. The worst part had been that he hadn't any excuse. He'd only said that he wasn't ready for marriage, and that he couldn't handle their relationship.

It was bullshit, and everyone knew it, but it had defeated Marietta's faith in relationships and, if she were to be honest with herself, left Cho feeling shaken as well.

She knew there were practical reasons for Draco's behavior. His parents hadn't taken the split from Astoria well. They had plans for him, which didn't include the future plans he'd made with Cho. They wanted to fix what had gone wrong and try again. Draco, however, wasn't interested. At least that was what he kept telling Cho.

Lately, she'd hardly seen him at all; he was so busy with work, and his mother's play. Cho finished her tea and set the cup aside decisively. He was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions and standing up to his damn family. Marietta was right.

It was time Draco made a choice.

"All right," she said finally. "I'll tell him. I'll tell him he has to come clean about us, or we're over."

"You have to mean it," Marietta said, and she sounded skeptical. Cho supposed she had a right to.

"Of course I'll mean it," said Cho. "I'll mean it."

***

  


  
**One Week Before the Play**   


**Narcissa**

Narcissa stood in her dining room, frowning at the dozens of program choices spread out before her. She had done such a fine job of delegating all of the other menial task to the members of the Ladies' Auxiliary that she'd left herself with no one to take on this one. It was just as well. The program spoke volumes about the kind of fundraiser she was running. It was best that she made all the decisions here.

When the bell rang just as she was about to make a decision between the mauve or vintage rose envelopes, she cursed softly under her breath, hissing at the house-elf to answer the door and send whomever it was away. She had important things to deal with at the moment. When Harry Potter appeared with a very chagrined elf a few moments later, she banished the creature with a simple glare.

"Auror Potter," she said tightly. "To what do I owe this call on my _home_ this afternoon?" Didn't he have an actual job to do? Aside from the charade that was Ministry security at her play.

"Narcissa," he said, and he walked slowly into the room, his gaze wandering over the furniture and walls.

It was then she remembered the last time he was here, during those dark days so many years ago, when her only, desperate concern was her son's precious life. Their petty squabbles suddenly felt less important.

"Your play is a week away. We need to discuss security staff for the performances. No more hiring on your own."

"Oh?" said Narcissa. "Mr Krum is not working out for you?"

"Viktor is just fine," said Potter. "He's a good man." He took a few steps nearer, still regarding his surroundings warily. "Though I doubt you even cared when you appointed him to the job."

"Are you accusing me of underhanded motives, Auror Potter? Is that a crime now?"

"I'm accusing you of messing with me on purpose," he said, and he was leaning so close that she could feel his breath on her throat.

"Again, I'll ask," she said. "Is that a crime?"

"No," Potter said, after a brief pause.

"Then what are you doing here?" she said.

"I want to know why," he said. "Why are you making this all so difficult?"

Narcissa tossed her head back and let out a ringing laugh. Was he serious?

"Do you have to ask? After the spectacle you made of that vanishing cabinet incident--"

"So that's really it, then?" he said, and in his tone there was something heavier than usual, something she couldn't quite identify. "It's all about revenge?"

"Revenge is such a petty word," she said.

"You seem to be a petty woman." His eyes were on _fire_ , and she found herself irritated that his glasses distorted them, kept her from seeing his anger uncovered.

"I'm the woman who saved your life."

"You're the woman who saved _your son's_ life," he said. "Don't think that I believe for a minute that you would have helped me get back to that castle if Draco weren't in there."

A muscle in Narcissa's right cheek twitched and one corner of her mouth curled up.

"What was important to you that day, _Harry_?" she said. "Certainly not my life."

"You were with the Death Eaters," he said. "They were trying to kill us. I didn't exactly have the time to stop and question your motives then."

"But you have it now, don't you?" she said.

He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling right in front of her, and she could feel the adrenaline coursing through him in waves. It had been years since she'd felt a flare of excitement like this and she could hardly keep herself from reaching out to touch him.

"I have all the time in the world," he said.

She licked her lips, slowly, a coil of satisfaction curling deep inside her when his gaze followed the movement of her tongue.

"Perhaps you should make more productive use of your time," she said.

His mouth had fallen open as if there were something on the air between them that he wanted to taste.

"I don't know what the hell his going on here," he said, his voice quiet and rough.

"Good," she said, and she grabbed him by the robes, pulling him closer. "I like keeping you on your toes."

She couldn't tell if she moved first, or if he did, but then they were kissing, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tangling with hers, his lips forceful and eager. She dug her heels into the floor and turned them around, tugging open his robes, unbuttoning the shirt beneath even before he'd shrugged them off. She wanted his bare skin beneath her fingernails, the taste of him on her tongue.

Seconds later, or maybe minutes, it all seemed to go so quickly, his clothes were scattered on the floor and her dress pooled at her feet. Her undergarments only took one more fluid motion to remove. His eyes were fixed to her breasts, but then his gaze traveled downward, taking her in.

She didn't let him get far. She pushed him by the shoulders and he staggered back to the dining room table, sat down hard, and with another shove, fell to his back. He was so hard already that his cock jutted out stiffly. He shifted his hips and reached down to grab it at its base, unable to wait for her to touch him.

Narcissa smiled as wickedly as if she were a hawk who had just found her prey. She had him on his back, writhing and panting and practically begging. She should have felt triumphant. Instead, she felt nothing but arousal. Only a thin, unsteady line kept him from turning the tables on her, and she wasn't certain she could hold it. But this, _this_ was too delicious to give up.

"Please." Harry was biting down on his bottom lip, spreading his legs wide on the table. "Narcissa. _Please_."

Even if her heart had been physically removed from her body, she would have felt the weight of his words. She closed her lips around the head of his cock and he cried out, a long, low, broken sound that echoed off the stone walls as he pushed his hips up off the table. He reached down to push her hair back from her face, and she looked up at him, laving the underside of his prick with her tongue. He threw his arms back violently over his head.

She pulled off with a soft pop and crawled up onto the table over him, straddling him. Play programs scattered everywhere, falling to the floor like snow. She didn't care. Potter was just lovely, and she wanted to look at all of him.

His body was hard and warm, strong, but not too muscular. She reached up and pulled his glasses from his face, sliding them across the table above them. This was no boy who had gone to school with her own son; he was a man in his own right and he drove her to the point of madness in all the worst--and best--ways possible. She spread her thighs wide and rose up on her knees, rubbing the tip of his cock against her clit.

"Narcissa," he whispered. "Oh, please." He came apart so easily at her mercy. It was intoxicating.

She slid down his length, and he filled her like he was meant to do just that, like he'd been waiting a lifetime to push his cock inside her. She shivered, started to move, her nails scoring his chest as she rode him. He arched back beneath her, pushing up harder, trying to get deeper, but never deep enough.

Was it always like this? Was it like this when she was young? She couldn't remember. He took hold of her hips, pulled her down, drove up harder, and her body made way for his over and over again. She braced one hand at the base of his throat, his pulse thrumming against her palm, the rhythm of it coursing through her own veins, and she felt _alive_.

"Will you come for me?" he gasped, so earnest in his request, that she couldn't withhold response.

"Yes. Oh... _oh_ , yes. Harry, my God!" She threw her head back, for a split second catching her reflection in the tall glass doors, her breasts bouncing as she fucked him, his hands roaming up her abdomen, fingers splayed over her ribs. She shuddered hard as she came, her body clenching him, pulling him in to her.

It was everything out of every vapid romance novel she'd ever used to pass the time: stars and fireworks, bright white light and a thousand sparks bursting all over her body at once. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, Harry came too, though she didn't know when. It was only when she lowered herself against him, resting her cheek against the crook of his neck and exhaling, that she realized it was over.

"This," he said, between heaving breaths, "complicates everything."

Narcissa closed her eyes. "Don't speak, Harry," she said. "Not another word tonight."

***

**Charlie**

Charlie threw Appolline up against the wall, her arse pressed against the wood panel just next to the small window that overlooked the balcony in the abandoned store room. She was still moaning from her orgasm, her body wrapped around him so tightly that he swore she was part of him.

"Anyone could see us here," he breathed over her ear. "Anyone could find out, at any time. You're so fucking wet, Appolline.That part gets you hot, doesn't it? Makes you want me more."

" _Oui_ ," she said, her head rolling back against the wall, silky hair spilling over her breasts, soft and cool between their warm, sweat-damp bodies. "Zey could all find out at any moment. It excites me, Charlie. You excite me."

Charlie buried his face against her neck, inhaling her, clutching her, seeking refuge inside her body. He was in so far over his head that he wondered how he managed to breathe at all. He was drowning in her: A married woman, Bill's mother-in-law, a woman off-limits in every way possible.

And all he could feel was _want_. Not shame, not guilt, not apprehension, just the raw need to have this woman, to hold her in his arms and listen to her tell him how much she wanted him and claim her for his own.

Except she wasn't his. But that husband of hers didn't deserve her, no matter how nice a man he might be. Appolline was special, she was amazing, and her nameless husband (he knew now that he'd actively avoided learning the man's name, because that made this easier somehow) couldn't possibly understand what she needed.

He growled, pushed the thought away, thrust into her again and again as her thighs tightened around his waist.

"Appolline," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Fuck. I need it."

"Are you going to come for me?" she said, her eyes falling closed as the back of her head thudded softly against the wall. "Are you going to come inside me?"

Charlie's breath hitched as something occurred to him. "Protection spell. Fuck." He winced as he braced her shoulders on the wall, thrusting into her harder and faster still. "Dunno if I remember."

"Potion," she said, her lips and tongue drawing a warm, wet circle over the shell of his ear. "I've been on it for years."

"Thank God," Charlie said. "Because--Oh, fuck." And he started to come, her body going tight and trembling all around him.

"Charlie," she breathed, and her nails scored deep lines in his back as she tumbled over the edge just after he did.

"God," Charlie breathed, tasting her skin with lips and tongue and teeth. "God. _God_. I love you."

"Mmm." Appolline exhaled into his hair, her breath sweet and warm. "You are _magnifique_ , Charlie," she said.

Charlie pulled away, panting, and pushed back a lock of hair clinging to her damp temple.

"You should go back," he said, kissing her softly. "They might come looking for you soon."

"And what would zey find?" she said, clenching her thighs around him more tightly. "You wiz your cock buried deep inside me, sweating and beautiful and spent?"

"Jesus," Charlie laughed, and he buried his face against her shoulder. "You're gonna kill me."

Appolline gracefully lowered one leg to the floor, and then the other. "Now zat is exactly what I do not want to do," she said. With a sigh, she bent to retrieve her wand, then summoned her clothing. "Zose are ze chairs you were supposed to bring to Narcissa, no?" She nodded toward the neatly stacked wooden chairs in the corner.

"Yeah," Charlie said, pulling on his jeans. "I'll tell her I had a little trouble locating them. After all, this place is kind of a mess."

She had found a full-length mirror tucked in the corner and was using it to pin up her hair where it had tumbled down.

"You are very sexy when you are being deceptive," she said, glancing back at him in the mirror.

"Oh yeah?" Charlie left his shirt draped over a trunk and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "God, you're beautiful."

"You should go, Charlie," she said. "Per'aps Molly will wonder where you are."

"Yeah," he said, and he inhaled her as he pulled away, wanting to hold onto this, just a little bit longer.

He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on over his head.

"Are you coming?" he said, levitating the chairs and sending them in a floating row out of the room and down the narrow staircase.

"I will be there in a minute," she said, tapping the tip of her wand to her lower lip to fix the lipstick that had smeared across her cheek. He wanted to kiss it off her all over again.

"All right," he said, but he didn't follow the chairs.

" _Charlie_." Her tone carried only the slightest hint of exasperation.

"I'm going," he said. And he grinned at her once more in the mirror, broadly, then left.

***

**Draco**

They were standing outside a restaurant, not in some back alley where he could offer her a clandestine meeting slipped in between the hundreds of other obligations in his life, but on a real sidewalk, outside a nice restaurant, where he'd been about to take her on an actual date. It hadn't happened like this in months. He should have known that it was too late in coming, but hadn't that become the story of his life? He never seemed to pull it all together in time.

"I don't want to tell you how to live your life, Draco," said Cho, and her eyes were glistening. "But I can't share the one you're living right now anymore. If you really want me, you'll want me in front of them. And if you don't..."

"Okay." The word came out of his mouth before he even had to think about it. He couldn't let this happen, not if he had a choice in the matter.

"Okay what?" she asked, and she took half a step back, as if she wanted to examine more of him. "Okay you're ready to let me move on?"

"Okay, I'll introduce you."

"You will? _When_?" Her expression had gone hard and unyielding.

"Whenever you're ready for it," said Draco, and his stomach began to twist in small knots. "Just... you have to promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"You have to promise me that you won't leave me when you see what they're like."

"When I... Draco, _what_ are you talking about?"

"When you meet my parents," he said. "When you see how truly maddening and, well, archaic they can be."

"Wait," she said, and he couldn't read the expression on her face. " _That's_ what this was all about? You didn't want me to meet them because you were embarrassed?"

"Embarrassed is a strong word," he said. "They're... intense."

"Draco, I know who your parents are."

"Well, of course you know who they are, but you haven't had them... scrutinize you. They're going to be... they're going to be bloody idiots is what they're going to be. And I'm going to be humiliated, and they're going to act like it's up to them to decide if you're good enough, and the whole charade is going to be ridiculous and--"

He would have kept talking but he couldn't because her lips were pressed against his then and her arms were wound around his neck. When she broke the kiss, she was laughing. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she was laughing.

"You're the bloody idiot," she said. "Do you know that?"

"And you're still here. What does that say about you?"

"It says that I'm the kind of person who loves you, flaws and all." She tugged on his arm. "Now come on. You promised me dinner and I'm taking you up on it. And now that we're not in hiding anymore, this is going to be a regular occurrence."

***

**Ariadne**

"Ariadne Zabini!" Molly Weasley's voice was shrill and tinny as it echoed through the theatre.

Ariadne thought that Narcissa's choice to have the Ladies' Auxiliary meet here was the perfect setting for the drama about to unfold. Rita reached for her quill, but Ariadne cast a quick, almost thoughtless spell, and it burst into flames. Rita dropped it with a gasp of offense.

"Is there a problem, Molly?" Ariadne said, and she was almost smiling.

"There is indeed a problem, Ariadne." Molly flipped open the _Daily Prophet_ and held up the Society page. _Has The Infamous Black Widow Hooked Another Fly in Her Web?_ read the headline. Beneath it was a picture of Ariadne and George, taken through the window of the restaurant where they had dined the other night. She was extending her hand across the table and he was pressing his lips to her knuckles.

In spite of the situation, Ariadne smiled when she saw it.

"Your son is quite charming," she said.

"My son is very nearly the same age as _your_ son," Molly hissed.

"He is at that," said Ariadne. They were all staring at her now, and she imagined the look of horror on all their faces. She could feel their eyes bearing down on her. Only Appolline, who sat in Ariadne's line of vision, had the decency to look away.

"What," Molly's voice dropped low and deadly, "are you doing with my son?"

"In that picture?" said Ariadne, slipping one hand into her handbag to feel for the handle of her wand--she remembered quite well what Molly had done to Bellatrix Lestrange, after all--and waving her other hand dismissively. "Having dinner. It was a quaint little establishment of his choosing. I had a refreshingly pleasant time. He's not a _boy_ , Molly. He's a grown man."

"I am well aware of _that_ ," Molly said. "But that doesn't give you the right to prey on him as if he's just another one of your conquests!"

"Another one of my--I'll have you know that I cared deeply for every one of my husbands!" Ariadne said.

"Oh, I'm quite sure you did," said Molly. "Right up until the day of their deaths!"

"Molly," said Narcissa, striding into the midst of it all. Ariadne was surprised she hadn't intervened sooner. "Please, civil discourse at our meetings."

"Of course," said Molly, her mouth pressed into a tight line after she spoke. "You'll have to excuse my outburst, but this woman is old enough to be his _grandmother_."

"That's something of an exaggeration," said Narcissa. "However," and she gave Ariadne a disapproving look, "you do have my sympathies--"

Ariadne didn't care what Narcissa was going to say next. How dare Narcissa act holier than thou in the midst of this situation. Did she not know how house-elves gossipped amongst themselves about their masters' personal business? Especially when that business involved fucking one of their great heroes on the dining room table!

"Let us not pretend that _I_ am the only one in this room with designs on a younger man, Narcissa," said Ariadne, tipping a hand she would have usually held until much later in the game.

Narcissa's pale face flushed deep red, and she opened her mouth, gaping at them in speechless anger, before spinning on her heel and storming from the theatre. Ariadne watched her leave with a pang of something unfamiliar deep in her chest. Perhaps that was regret.

"What in the world?" Andromeda rose to her feet, looking from woman to woman, then hurrying after her sister, calling out for her.

Ariadne looked around at the women still gathered there. Poppy was trying in vain to pretend she was absorbed in the magical knitting Molly had left on the chair beside her. Aurelia had given up pretending she had anything better to do and was staring openly. Rita continued snuffing out her smoldering quill beneath the toe of her shoe. Appolline was shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"I'm terribly sorry," Molly said to Appolline. "You must think my outburst was dreadful."

Ariadne narrowed her eyes. It _was_ dreadful. She could think of several other adjectives as well, and none of them as kindly.

"It is all right," Appolline said, glancing up to give Molly a small smile. Her gaze then fell upon Ariadne, and she nodded congenially in her direction.

Ariadne returned the nod. "Well, I must be going, I suppose. Ladies, tell Narcissa to let me know when my services are needed directly." Without one more word, she left the theatre.

***

**Harry**

"I want off this job," Harry said, giving Kingsley what he hoped was a decisive nod. He'd thought about this for days, ever since he'd been with Narcissa, spread out over her dining room table, naked and drawing her desire down his back in long, red lines.

"Harry, are you all right?"

When Harry came around again, Kingsley looked concerned, and Harry realized he was swaying in slow circles where he stood.

"Um, yes? Yes! Of course I'm all right. I'm just... I'm here to..." Dammit, why couldn't he think about anything past the soft swell of Narcissa's breasts against his chest, or the wispy curl of blonde hair that clung to her damp forehead as he slid into her.

"Ask for a change of assignment?" Kingsley offered.

"Er, yeah," said Harry, forcing himself to focus on where he was right now. At this moment. In the Minister's office. At work.

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you ask Robards first?"

"No," Harry said.

"Good," said Kingsley, "then we don't have to worry about conflicting answers. No, Potter. You stay on this detail. It's only one more week. I've got no one else to replace you."

"Come on, Kingsley. You can find someone. There has to be _someone_."

Kingsley laughed then. He actually had the balls to chuckle at Harry's situation. For a moment, Harry wanted to hit him.

"Is she that unbearable?" said Kingsley.

"Sir, you have no idea," Harry said. _None at all._

"I'm sorry, Harry. One more week. That's all I'm asking from you. And then you can forget you ever met Narcissa Malfoy."

"Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen," Harry said, grimacing. "All right, fine." _I can be professional, right? We'll just pretend that nothing ever happened._

"Good man," said Kingsley. "I'm looking forward to the performance. Daphne tells me Miss Parkinson is quite the diva."

"I wouldn't know about that," said Harry, realizing only then that he'd hardly spent any time at all with the actors, most of his attention had gone to this... this... well, whatever it was that he had with Narcissa. "But I'm sure Krum would. He's been with her almost every second."

Kingsley snorted. "So much for Narcissa's privately hired security detail."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I guess so. Kingsley, are you sure I can't--"

"Back to work, Potter. One more week, that's all. I've seen you operate under far worse circumstances in the past," he said.

Harry rolled his eyes, but smiled just the same. "Honestly," he said as he left the office. "You save one world and suddenly everyone's expectations are sky high."

Once he was out of the office, his expression fell again. How was he going to face Narcissa?

***

**Pansy**

"I just can't believe he hasn't asked you out again," Pansy said, picking over her salad as Daphne nursed a bowl of soup across from her. Neither of them had been particularly hungry, but lunch was as good an excuse as anything to meet up in the middle of the work day.

"To be fair, he didn't ask me out the first time."

"I know! You asked him," said Pansy gleefully. "I'm so proud of you, Daphne. You propositioned the Minister."

Daphne's cheeks turned a brilliant shade of crimson and she buried her spoon in her soup bowl. "I didn't proposition him! I asked him if he was going to the charity luncheon!"

"Same thing," said Pansy. "I saw the two of you there. He sat right next to you and hung on your every word!"

"He was being kind," said Daphne, though a smile of satisfaction curled her lips and Pansy knew that Daphne was fully aware of what the Minister's interests had been that afternoon.

"We both know that isn't all," said Pansy. She sipped her water.

"Well, what about you?" Daphne said, giving up on the soup and setting her spoon aside as she looked up at Pansy. "How is that certain former Quidditch player who's working for Narcissa now? I saw the publicity posters with his face on them. They're plastered all over Diagon Alley."

"Viktor's a nice man," said Pansy, and the unfamiliar heat of discomfort rose in her chest. "Even if he is friendly with Granger."

"But he likes _you_ , doesn't he?"

Pansy tossed her hair back off her shoulders airily. "I wouldn't know."

"Of course you would! He's all you ever talk about, Pansy. You should hear yourself. Viktor this and Viktor that... You're positively obsessed."

"I am not! It's just that he's... preferable to the other options." She scoffed. "Potter and Weasley! Honestly! I don't know how Narcissa puts up with it."

"Harry's not that bad, you know," said Daphne. "He's always in the Minister's office and he's really quite polite, and he can be funny sometimes too."

"Ugh," said Pansy, wrinkling her nose. "I told you there were far too many Gryffindors working at the Ministry. They've influenced you, and not in a good way."

"Oh, get over it already," said Daphne. "Hogwarts was a long time ago. No one has houses anymore."

"See?" said Pansy. "You sound just like one of them!"

The waiter set their bill on the table and Daphne swiped it up before Pansy had the chance.

"If you'll excuse me, _I_ have a job to get back to," said Daphne, rising to her feet.

"By all means," said Pansy. "Don't let me hold you up." She waved her hand in the air.

Daphne laughed and took the bill with her. "Good luck with rehearsal this weekend," she called over her shoulder.

"Don't worry," Pansy said, more to herself than Daphne. "I'm going to knock them dead."

***

**Charlie**

George reached for a snow globe on the shelf, shaking it vigorously, then letting the tiny, glittering snowflakes drift down through the water to sprinkle over the dancing elves and polar bears on an iceberg.

"What do you think?" he said, holding it up to the light. "Would Mum love this or what?"

Charlie examined it for a moment, then shook his head. "You're out of your mind, mate," he said. "What's Mum going to do with one of those?"

"I dunno. Let me back into the family?"

"Idiot," said Charlie. "S'not like she's kicked you out."

"She said she's disappointed in my choices, Charlie. I haven't heard that one in years."

"Then stop seeing the Zabini woman," said Charlie. "You've got to admit she's got a point there."

"Ariadne is a fine lady," said George. "And I kind of like her."

"Oh, wow. 'Kind of' like her," said Charlie. "Alert the press. Oh, wait. the press is already on it."

"Yeah," said George. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

"Get better at sneaking around," said Charlie.

George snorted and put the snow globe back reluctantly, then wandered over to a rack of t-shirts emblazoned with tap-dancing kittens.

"What do you think of this for Gin?" Charlie said with a snicker, holding up one of the shirts.

"I think if you value your balls where they are, you won't get her anything like it," said George.

"Yeah, I reckon I'm kind of fond of having them attached," said Charlie.

"You know, you could help me out of all this," said George.

"How so?" said Charlie.

"Find a bloody girlfriend," George said. "Buy her a ring! Plan a wedding! Anything. As the next big brother in line, it's up to you to take the pressure off."

" _Right_ ," said Charlie, but his gaze wandered over to the jewelry counter even as he tried to avoid it. "Mate, they don't make the ring to fit my lady love. And besides, Ridgebacks aren't so fond of wearing shiny things as they are of guarding them."

"How could I forget?" said George. "I'm talking to he who shuns women in favor of scaly beasts who would burn him to a crisp and tear his throat out."

"That's me," said Charlie. "Look, George, there's one way to fix this. If you're serious about seeing her, explain it to Mum. She's not going to like it, but maybe she'll accept it, you know?"

"Or maybe her head will explode," said George. "It came pretty close this last time."

"If Perce didn't manage to make that happen, mate, then I'd say you're in the clear." Charlie grinned as he took a few casual steps back, toward the counter. "I'm just going to take a look over there for a minute."

"Oh, God, you really are going to propose to a dragon, aren't you?"

"No, you wanker!" Charlie said, laughing. "Looking for an earring. For Bill." _That's pathetic, Charlie. That's what that is._

"In this place? Isn't it a little... fancy for Bill?"

"Maybe," said Charlie. "You never know what they have, though. Coming?"

"No," said George. "I'm going to check out the toys. Ever since you people forbade me to give out Wheezes as gifts, Christmas shopping has been significantly less enjoyable."

"Eh, someone has to suffer," said Charlie. "And the rest of us already did our time. See you in a minute, George."

When George had walked away, Charlie headed to the counter. No, he couldn't exactly get a married woman an engagement ring, but there had to be something here that was worthy of Appolline, even if he had to spend the next three months eating tins of beans to afford it.

***

  


  
**The Day of The Play**   


**Viktor**

He was standing outside her door with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and they were all red roses. He didn't even know if she liked red roses, but the girl in the shop had told him that he couldn't go wrong with them, so he'd taken a dozen. He straightened his jacket. He raised his hand to knock on the door.

It opened of its own accord.

Viktor jumped back a step. A moment later his logical mind would chastise him that of course it had to be Pansy, she was the only one who lived there, but he'd been so intent on doing this all the right way that he hadn't considered that right away.

Neither, it seemed, had Pansy. She let out a little shriek of panic and flung her purse at him. He ducked, his defensive skills still quick as ever, and her purse slammed into the wall behind him, leaving a crack in its stead. Viktor looked up at her, confused.

"There are flowers on the floor," she said.

"Yes," said Viktor, and he picked them up. "They are for you." As soon as she took them from his hand, he retrieved her purse, finding that it was curiously heavy.

"And there is a brick in your purse?" he asked.

Pansy smiled and fussed with the flowers a bit. "Just a standard added-weight charm," she said. "A girl needs to be careful, you know."

Viktor frowned. "Is there a threat in your neighborhood?"

"It's nothing specific," she said. "It's just... actors don't always keep reasonable hours, and walking through the dark alone... It makes me feel safer."

"Perhaps you need Narcissa's security team after all," he said.

"I can take care of myself," she said sharply.

"Oh yes," said Viktor. "I..." He smiled, unaccustomed to feeling self-conscious. "I am usually much better at this."

Pansy took her purse and looked down at the flowers. "So am I," she said.

They stood there for a while, their silence filling the space between their bodies unevenly, until she looked up again.

"Thank you. They're beautiful."

"Are they vat you like?"

"Yes! It was very sweet of you to bring me flowers."

"I vish you luck tonight--Or, that is not vat I am supposed to say, is it?"

Pansy laughed. "It's all right," she said. "I think it's going to be wonderful." She held the flowers against her chest. "I'd like to take these to the theatre with me. Are you... Would you like to escort me?"

"If you vould not be offended," said Viktor. "I vould like that very much."

Pansy reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her wand to lock the door behind her, then put it away and tucked her arm into his. They walked a few steps toward the stairs before she stopped, pulling him back with her.

"Pansy?" he said, tipping his head to look at her.

Her tongue darted out, a quick pink blur flashing over her vibrant red lipstick, and then she was on her toes, pressing a chaste but lasting kiss to his lips. Viktor made a little gasp of surprise, but smiled into the kiss, resting one hand gently on her waist. Pansy broke away just enough to look at him.

"It's going to be so hectic when we get there," she said. "And I didn't know... I wasn't sure I'd have the chance to do that again tonight."

Viktor smiled. "Ve vill have the chance to do this again. After the play. If you vould allow me to escort you home as vell."

Pansy beamed, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, the bouquet of roses pressed against the side of his head, making everything smell like a garden.

"I would love for you to escort me home, Viktor," she said.

***

**Cho**

"Just remember," Draco whispered to her as his father took a seat across from them at the table, "my parents are not a reflection on me."

"Would you stop already?" Cho whispered back. "They're not _that_ bad."

Lucius was glaring at her, so she straightened up in her chair and offered him a small smile. He cleared his throat and looked at Draco.

"I suppose your date will be arriving soon?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Father, Cho is my date. She's my girlfriend. I explained this to you before."

"You were serious," said Lucius.

"Of course I was serious. How would that even be a joke?"

"She's not a Slytherin," Lucius said, looking utterly confused.

"No, I'm not," said Cho. "I'm an adult. I left Hogwarts a decade ago. I'm not in any house now, but back then I was in Ravenclaw."

Lucius sighed demonstratively. "I suppose it could be worse," he said, and Cho wished she'd told him that she'd been a Gryffindor.

She took a deep breath. They were only five seconds into the conversation. There was no way she was going to let Lucius Malfoy ruin this so early. Or at all.

"Is that your mother?" she said, glad to see Narcissa Malfoy rushing into the restaurant, looking flustered and a bit confused.

"Yes," said Draco, frowning as he watched her hurry across the dining room, tugging at the hem of her blouse. "Hello, Mother."

"Draco," she said, "Lucius." She nodded faintly as Lucius pulled out her seat. "And this must be Cho."

"Yes," said Cho, wondering if she should mention that the top button on Narcissa's blouse was open. Perhaps she'd meant it that way, though it gave her a far more casual appearance than usual. Draco was staring, too.

"It's nice to meet you," Cho added, instead of pointing out that they'd met before.

Narcissa smiled, but it was a distracted, far-away smile.

"Mother?"

"Yes?"

"What's wrong with you?"

Narcissa's smile suddenly lit up her face, and she turned to Draco so swiftly that he pulled back as if she'd startled him.

"Why, my play is tonight! Nothing's wrong at all. Everything is fabulous."

"Fabulous," Draco repeated. "That's great."

Lucius was watching Narcissa with unmasked adoration and Cho noticed with some degree of discomfort that it was not a sentiment that seemed to be returned.

"You're simply glowing," said Lucius. "I haven't seen such a blush on your cheeks since we were young."

Narcissa coughed quietly into the back of her hand, then sipped her water. "Thank you," she said.

Lucius, who seemed to have forgotten that Draco and Cho were at the table at all, seemed also to be unaware that Narcissa was completely uninterested.

"You look positively... refreshed," he continued. "Invigorated. Injected with a youthful glow.I don't know where you've been but--"

"Father," Draco said, lowering his voice as he glanced from side to side to make sure the whole bloody restaurant wasn't watching them. "Do you mind? You sound like you're suggesting that she..." He gave Lucius a pointed look.

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco. Your mother isn't... doing _that_."

Cho was watching Narcissa while the two of them bickered, and from the other woman's pink cheeks and the thin white line forming around her lips where she was pressing them together tightly, Cho was starting to get the feeling that Lucius was quite wrong.

"I'm looking forward to the play!" Cho said loudly, holding up her water glass. "We should toast to a successful performance."

"Yes," said Narcissa, and she raised her glass of red wine, watching Cho shrewdly. After a moment, she apparently decided she could trust Cho, and granted her a cautious smile.

Draco raised his drink as well and three glasses clinked together.

"Honestly, Father, I'd think you would be thrilled with the occasion. We've finally been released from poster... duty." Draco trailed off when he looked at Lucius, who was still staring at Narcissa, but now with an expression of disbelief.

Cho wished she could just slip under the table and disappear. It was like watching a tidal wave approach the shore and knowing that however fast you ran, you weren't going to be able to get out of the way in time.

"With _whom_ have you been spending your afternoon?" said Lucius. "And don't tell me LAUF."

Narcissa's expression slowly fell. "L-A-U-F," she corrected, pronouncing each letter with exaggeration. "Really, Lucius. You know that."

"You didn't answer the question."

"I don't have to. It's absurd."

Cho looked for Draco out of the corner of her eye and caught him mouthing "I told you so." She couldn't help smiling just a little bit, though she didn't have to worry about Lucius or Narcissa noticing. They were far too preoccupied fighting with each other.

"Father," Draco said, "this is ridiculous. Of course she hasn't spent the afternoon with anyone. She's working on that play. Potter's been following her around like a shadow, for Merlin's sake! He's been all over her. If anything were going on, Potter would be right there."

 _Oh, God, no_ , Cho thought. But the look on Narcissa's face told her she was right.

"What?" said Draco. "What's everyone--Oh. Mother, _no_."

"I haven't said a word," said Narcissa. "And none of this should be of concern to anyone at this table."

"You're serious," said Lucius. "You're having an affair with _Harry Potter_." He said the name as if it burned his tongue.

Cho edged her seat a bit closer to Draco.

"Cho, it was lovely to meet you, dear," said Narcissa, smiling tightly as she rose to her feet. "Draco, I'll see you tonight?"

Without waiting for an answer, she picked up her purse and exited the restaurant. Lucius threw his napkin on the table.

"I can't believe this," he said. "Can you believe this?"

Draco looked as if he were beginning to feel ill and he shook his head. "I'd rather not think about it at all, thank you."

"It's outrageous! Harry Potter! It defies logic." Lucius stood abruptly, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small pouch of galleons, leaving enough on the table to cover any two entrees on the menu. "Something needs to be done about this."

He nodded once, hardly even sparing a glance at Cho, then swept from the restaurant as well.

"He's not going after Harry, is he?" said Cho.

Draco shook his head. "Generally, 'Something needs to be done about this' means getting pissed with his house-elf in the middle of the afternoon," he said. "Or it least it has since the divorce."

"Oh," said Cho. "I suppose that's better than the alternative."

"At least something good came out of this." Draco looked up at Cho, his smile tremulous. "I think my mother likes you," he said.

***

**Appolline**

She was alone in the kitchen when Charlie found her, rinsing a glass in the sink. His mouth was on the back of her neck, broad shoulders pressed against her as he whispered, "I need to see you alone."

"Zere is no time for zat, _mon cher_ ," she said, drying the glass by hand. Sometimes it was so much more satisfying than using a charm. "Ze play is in an 'our."

"No," said Charlie, his mouth hovering by her ear now. In spite of the cynicism of her years, he still somehow managed to make her knees weak. "I just... I have something for you."

"For me?" She spun around then, finding herself in his arms. "A gift?"

"Yeah." He grinned, and it was a wide, charming smile, the one that had disarmed her so completely at Fleur's wedding. "It's, uh, special."

He pulled a velvet box from behind his back, holding it up in the small space between their bodies. Appolline gave him a curious look, but took it in her hands.

"What is zis?" she asked.

"Open it and see," he said. His expression radiated hopeful optimism, and a small pit of dread began to form in her stomach.

She opened the box. "Oh, _Charlie._ "

A pair of heart-shaped diamond earrings sparkled at her, glistening in the low sunlight of late afternoon that spilled through the kitchen window. They were a lovely choice, simple and elegant and just the sort of thing she would have chosen for herself. She raised her eyes to look at him.

"Don't you like them?" he asked.

"Zey are very beautiful." She closed the box and tucked it back into his hand. "You must 'ave paid a fortune for zem."

He shrugged and looked a bit bashful. More than a fortune, then. She wondered how he'd managed it.

"You should save zem for someone special."

"You're special," he said. "Appolline, I can't even explain... This is just... I want you. And I've given it a lot of thought, and I think... I want to be with you." The last few words ran together as if he'd rehearsed them a thousand times and couldn't wait to get them out.

"You--" She reached out to push a lock of hair from his forehead. "Oh, Charlie. You 'ave been wiz me."

"But not for real. I want this... Appolline, I know you're a married woman, but I'm in love with you, and I want this to be official. Us, together."

"My marriage," she began, and she chose her words very carefully. She hadn't done that in the past and look now at where they had ended up. "My marriage is and always 'as been open to ozzer partners."

"What?"

"Charlie, zis was not... 'ow do you say? Illicit? My 'usband knows all about you."

"He..." Charlie swallowed hard and his arms dropped to his side, the hand holding the box going white at the knuckles where he gripped it so tightly. "He knows?"

" _Oui_. I wanted to keep it a secret because of Molly. Charlie, sit down. Please."

"No." He shook his head. "No, I'm all right. I'm good."

He looked anything but. How had she not expected this, not seen it coming? He'd made her feel so youthful, so energetic, and he'd been so sincere. She'd let herself get caught up in all that. She felt like she could hear his heart breaking.

"Charlie, you are a very special man. A wonderful man. But it is not me zat you want. I saw it zat night at ze wedding. Ze look in your eyes. You want what your brother 'as, youthful love and fidelity. I am not zis."

"But you're... Appolline, you're what I want." He reached out for her, brushed his fingertips over her arm before his hand fell away again. "I want you, just you."

"And I want you, too, Charlie. But not _just_ you. Not just anyone, not even Louis."

"Louis," he said quietly, but there was no contempt or jealousy in his voice. "Is that his name? Louis?"

" _Oui_."

"I, uh, didn't know his name. Before."

"I am so sorry. I zought... I do not know what I zought."

"It's all right," he said. He nodded, but his eyes were glassy and he was staring off at some distant point behind her. "I, uh, better go get dressed."

"Charlie..."

"No," he said. "Really. It's fine. I'll, uh, see you at the play, I imagine."

"I will be zere."

"With Louis."

" _Oui_."

He nodded, but didn't look at her again, and she thought she caught him blinking hard as he turned and left the room. She imagined that he would have flown if he could, to get away from her. She didn't think she could blame him.

***

**The Play**

The theatre entrance was flanked with Aurors, though they looked far more bored than vigilant. It was clear that whatever seedy criminal element had occupied the theatre before Narcissa Malfoy decided to use it as the base of operations for her charity's play had long abandoned the idea of returning. Ron Weasley sat in the back of the theatre with his wife, relieved to have been given the night off from monitoring this whole debacle. Harry was off duty, but chose to roam the theatre, just to make sure everything was as it should be, and definitely _not_ to keep a watchful eye on Narcissa.

When Ariadne Zabini arrived, the flock of paparazzi who followed her to the door were held at bay by the Aurors, grateful for something to do tonight, and George turned and saluted them dutifully, a cheeky wink the last thing they saw before he disappeared into the theatre with Ariadne. They had only taken a few steps inside when they passed the seats of Molly, Arthur, and Charlie. George paused, unable to ignore his family in spite of the tension between them.

Molly cleared her throat and looked up expectantly. Arthur took her hand. Charlie gave George a half-hearted smile, looking very much unlike himself.

"Hallo, Mum, Dad. Charlie," George said. He held Ariadne's arm a bit tighter. "I think you've all met my date already."

"Ms Zabini," Charlie said, giving her a small wave. He turned his attention back to his program promptly.

"Ariadne," said Molly, her voice so cold that everyone around them felt the room's temperature drop several degrees.

"Molly," said Ariadne. She cleared her throat as well. Either someone was going to have to break the ice, or this childish charade would continue. "You did a lovely job with the floral arrangements in the lobby."

Molly peered up at her for a moment, confounded by the proffered olive branch. Ariadne had never been known as a woman willing to make an intentional show of good will toward another person, but here she was, offering a compliment. Whilst hanging on the arm of Molly's child. Still, it had been something.

"Thank you," Molly said, smiling. Beside her, Arthur sank into his chair, looking as though he'd just been spared from execution.

"They are lovely, aren't they?" said Arthur.

"Just charming," Ariadne agreed, smiling.

Clearly George knew when she was in danger of laying it on too thickly, and he tugged on her arm a bit. "We should find our seats," he said. "Wouldn't want to miss this for the world. Mum, I'll be over for Christmas, yeah?"

"Of course, George," Molly said. "We'll be expecting you. Will... er, you be bringing a guest?"

"Unfortunately, I have plans for Christmas Day," Ariadne said.

"That's too bad!" said Arthur. "Perhaps New Year's, then."

"We'll see about that, Dad," said George, covering his discomfort as he escorted her away. He was an expert at quitting while he was ahead, and he knew how very close to the line he was right now.

George led her to the front of the theatre and they took their seats in the second row.

"Everyone's staring at us," George murmured in her ear. "Must be my new tie."

"Mmm," said Ariadne, smiling slyly as she placed a hand on his thy. "Or perhaps your new found infamy. Just remember, at least 'infamous' has 'famous' in it."

Cho's fingers intertwined with Draco's as they walked along the aisle and picked a row midway between the Weasleys and Ariadne.

"Ladies first," said Draco, squeezing her hand as he guided her toward a seat.

"You're ridiculously attentive tonight," said Cho, unwilling to let go of his hand as they sat down.

"It's been a good day," said Draco. "My mother's invited us to the after party, by the way. It's being catered by that new French restaurant on Diagon Alley."

Cho beamed at him. "We're going, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," said Draco.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "And your father? Is he going to be here tonight?"

"He said he would come," said Draco. "On the condition that no one mentions Harry Potter's name to him. I gave him assurance that he wouldn't hear it from either of us, but I don't know that he won't end up disappointed anyway."

Cho smiled. "When you told me they would be interesting, I had no idea." She slid her legs in and to the side as Daphne Greengrass pressed past her in the aisle.

"Sorry," said Daphne. She had no idea how Kingsley managed to shuffle past other people in this row without stepping on all their toes as she seemed to be doing. They finally found two empty seats side by side and sat down.

Then she realized they were seated on the aisle at the far end, and all that tripping over boots and purses could have been avoided. She was saved the task of admonishing herself silently, though, because a second later, Pansy was at their side, tapping on her shoulder excitedly.

"Daph!" said Pansy, pulling a kerchief over her head. She wasn't supposed to be out here this close to show time. "I've been looking everywhere for you! What took you so long? Oh, hello, Mr Minister."

"Miss Parkinson," said Kingsley, then he turned his attention back to the program.  

Pansy was relieved that he didn't want to make small talk. "Did you see?" She whispered to Daphne, gesturing further down their row. "Draco has a _girlfriend_! Poor Theodore, his heart must be broken."

"I saw that he arrived with Cho Chang, but--"

"Oh, damn. I have to go. Wish me luck!" Pansy pressed a quick kiss to Daphne's cheek.

She dashed away before Daphne had the chance to comment that she didn't think Theodore had ever actually been in love with Draco, and that the whole story was in Pansy's head. She saw Kingsley looking at her and glanced up with a smile.

"Don't even ask," she said, though she was fairly certain he was wise enough to know better already. "And, um, thank you for coming with me in the first place. You really didn't have to do that, you know. No one would expect the Minister to make time for something like this."

Kingsley shifted in his seat, suddenly, the movement so awkward it made him wince. So much for any ideas he'd entertained about being suave tonight.

"I didn't mind coming. I wanted to," he said.

Daphne bit down on her lower lip. "Really?"

Kingsley chuckled. "I didn't think this was that much of a secret anymore. Daphne, you were right about something."

"About what?" she said, and her heart was beating so hard in her throat that she was surprised she was able to push the words out at all.

"I was thinking about having you transferred to another department," said Kingsley.

"What?"

"I... I don't want want my secretary as a friend. That's what you were right about."

"I..." Daphne frowned. Maybe she wasn't following him, because he was still smiling, and surely he wouldn't smile _and_ break her heart at the same time.

Would he?

"I said that?" she said finally.

"Oh!" Kingsley said, feeling a lot less like the Minister of Magic and a lot more like a bumbling novice when it came to all things romantic. "This is coming out wrong. I don't want you as my secretary because I--"

Words, he thought, were clumsy and unnecessary just now. He needed to express _feelings_ , not words. So he leaned forward, and he kissed her. After a moment's pause, Daphne flung her arms around his neck and kissed back, squealing so loudly into his mouth that the elderly woman seated in front of them turned around, making a scandalized sound as she watched them. Kingsley just chuckled against Daphne's lips, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Just as the house lights went down, Viktor Krum hurried down the aisle, having insisted on waiting to deliver the second bouquet he'd purchased for Pansy in person. He pushed past a few people and into a seat in the second row, catching the pointy tip of Ariadne's boot in the back of his calf as he scooted by.

Viktor dropped to his seat as the curtain open and was on his feet again like a jack-in-the-box, applauding so loudly at Pansy's appearance that people around him began to whisper.

The first act of the play went as smoothly as anyone could have hoped, with Viktor first applauding every line Pansy spoke, and then, after a bit of reassurance from George Weasley that she'd understand his enthusiasm if he saved it for those times the entire audience applauded, with the cast being allowed to perform their play in relative quiet. Viktor made up for the lack of applause by laughing raucously at every humorous bit.

Narcissa stood backstage, pacing quietly as she watched the play proceed. On occasion, she glanced over at the silver vase of white lilies she'd received at the theatre an hour before the play began. The attached note was signed by a very repentant Lucius Malfoy, whom Narcissa was going to let stew for a while longer before accepting his apology. He no longer had the right to comment on her social life, she thought, and she idly ran her fingertips up and down her upper arm as she considered exactly what her social life had become.

"Everything going well?" Harry smiled as he leaned over Narcissa's shoulder to speak.

Narcissa jumped only a little and regained her composure quickly. "Of course it is," she said. "Would you have expected any less?"

"Not at all," he said, and he moved beside her so he could look at her.

Narcissa's hair was up, twirled high on her head and held in place by tiny charmed pearls. It had the desired effect on Harry, who couldn't seem to look away.

"You don't have to be here tonight," she said. "The Minister agreed that only minimal security is required."

"Security isn't the reason I'm here."

She smiled wryly. "Oh, isn't it?"

Harry smiled slowly in return and shook his head. "You wind me up like nobody else, Narcissa Malfoy," he said.

"Do I?" She arched an eyebrow. "I'm starting to get the impression you enjoy it."

He slid an arm around her waist, turning her to pull her against him.

"So am I," he said, and she didn't get to see the curtain go up again, because he was kissing her.

In the theatre, the house lights were going down again, and Appolline set her program aside, hardly noticing as someone murmured something to the man sitting next to her. The man vacated his seat and someone else dropped into it.

"I hope you don't mind," Charlie said, his voice low as he leaned nearer. "I imagine this is the closest I'll get to seeing you alone tonight."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head.

"Just listen," he said. "I thought about what you said. A lot. And what you said about Bill, about me wanting what he has--the young love and stuff. You're right in a way. I mean, he was getting this _life_ , you know? And I kind of wanted that, too."

Appolline nodded, watching him carefully. He looked so nervous, but there was something else there, too, a kind of calm that she hadn't seen in him before.

"I do love you, Appolline. I know that for sure. But I think I'm okay with this, with you not loving me back. Or at least I can be. I... I need to figure this all out. I reckon I'm a little old to have just realized that I'm capable of loving someone."

"Oh, Charlie," she whispered, and she reached out to squeeze his knee. "If I were a younger woman, and my life very different, I should like to give you what you need. You are wiser zan you realize."

Charlie snorted, then covered his mouth with his hand as the witch in front of him cast a frown in his direction.

"I might ask you to repeat that last part to the rest of my family at Christmas dinner, considering you're the first person to ever tell me that."

"Anyzing for you, Charlie."

He licked his lips and nodded.

"And ze next time you are in London," she said. "Once you 'ave it all figured out, per'aps you will look me up."

He was quiet for a moment, and something on stage sent the audience into a fit of laughter. When it had died down, he was looking at her.

"I think I just might do that," he said. And then, with his head bent low and his shoulders considerably lighter, he ducked away from the seat beside her and toward the back of the theatre.

Appolline took Louis's hand and gazed up at the stage.

At the end of the play, Poppy Parkinson took the stage, clapping wildly.

"Thank you all so much for coming to tonight's _brilliant_ performance," she said. "Because of your generosity, a Hogwarts education is in sight for several children who otherwise would not have been able to attend. The Ladies Auxiliary for a Unified Front is forever in your debt. And speaking of our fine organization, we would not be here tonight if it weren't for the tireless efforts of Narcissa Malfoy." She flicked her wand and a large bouquet of flowers appeared in her arms. "Narcissa," she called out.

The audience began to applaud, an enthusiastic sound that died down quickly, as Narcissa failed to appear on stage. A few people began to whisper amongst themselves.

"Narcissa Malfoy," Poppy said again, but this time her voice wavered, as if she were unsure. After another moment of stuttering applause, Andromeda took the stage and began to whisper in Poppy's ear.

Draco leaned closer to Cho. "I'm going to _kill_ Potter," he said, but Cho only pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a smile. She found the whole situation rather amusing.

Inside the building, Andromeda graciously accepted her sister's flowers. Outside, as the crowd began to file through the doors, high above the theatre entrance on a balcony shielded from prying eyes by a clever cloaking charm, Harry stood beside Narcissa.

Some tiny speck of white drifted down on the chilly breeze in front of them.

"I'd ask if you saw that," said Harry, "but I'm afraid that would sound too cliche." He draped his coat over Narcissa's shoulders. "This is a mess, you know. You and me. It's never going to work."

"And the press will be unbearable," she added. She turned toward him. "We're going to be at each other's throats more often than not."

"The make-up sex is going to be incredible," he said.

"You should keep up your guard at work. Draco may be out for blood."

"I'm not worried," he said. "Though, if he gets a good shot at me, I may need comforting."

"Mmm, yes. I'm sure you will."

Harry reached up, pulling one of the pearled hair pins out, and blonde curls cascaded down over her shoulders. He twined his fingers into her hair, caressing the base of her neck, drawing her toward him. The most brilliant idea Narcissa had entertained to date ended with an equally brilliant kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> List of pairings featured (may be spoilery): Narcissa/Harry, Charlie/Appolline Delacour, Pansy/Viktor, George/Mrs Zabini, Draco/Cho, Daphne/Kingsley


End file.
